As soon as the last box was loaded, and we got some pizza in us, that’s exactly what he did. Died.
Timing. Dad had it.
We joke that he chose then to pass because he didn’t want to move to a trailer. But deep down, we know better. He was ready to go, and once he knew Mom was all set, he went.
Last year, on this day, I wrote him a letter.
This year is different. Something has shifted and I feel more at peace. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sad and shit, but I’m okay with it too. And I would love to have him back, hale and hearty and whole. (Not as a Zombie Dad.) But apparently someone(thing) had other plans for him. Maybe somebody needed something built in the otherworld. Or heaven needed a tinkerer. Dad was a worker, I can’t imagine him being idle in the afterlife.
A few days after Dad died, I was driving in my car and I had a wave of feeling come over me that the light had gone out of my world. How could I ever be happy again?
Someone changed the light bulb, and I have hope again. And sometimes: happies. It gets better all the time.
If you want to read through my journey with Dad’s illness, here are all the posts. Some of them are very good.