Member-only story
I never said “goodbye”.
My dad didn’t expect for me to say goodbye.
But that is what I think I needed. One final chat.
My dad’s dementia was deteriorating in 1998.
He had lost his wife in a car accident in 1961. I was 2 1/2 yrs. old.
My brother and sisters told me my dad demanded that they not speak of our mom again. “She is gone, and I don’t want to hear another word about your mother.”
He started working even harder, 6 days/week, spending Sunday at church. He was emotionally “shut down”.
I was oblivious. As the youngest sibling, no one told me my mom wasn’t coming back. Too young to understand.
Since no one talked about my mother, I was left to put the pieces of the puzzle together.
I felt abandoned.
I survived. Because I didn’t know anything else. Unconsciously I moved through life mimicking my father.
Back to 1998. My dad is in the ICU. I am standing next to his bed holding his hand. He squeezes it softly to acknowledge it is me there with him. I am praying that the Universe takes him tonight, while I’m there because I have a flight back to Chicago on the “red eye” to attend an important meeting the next day.
