Ever the Pragmatist

About a week and half before my dad passed, I got a call from my mom. It was late, and she was at the hospital with him. She said he wanted me to come down and visit, she said I needed to come down.

Exhausted from what life was at the time, I didn’t feel like going. I had left school early to come home and be with my family. I took incompletes in all my classes (which we never told him) so I could spend time with him and help. They were long days, scary days, and the ups and downs and back and forth trips to the hospital were wearing on me. I didn’t want to go. I didn’t have the energy to get all the way downtown late at night. I had just been there earlier that day; why did she want me to come back?

Of course I went. I could hear in her voice that it was important I was there. So, on that cold dark November evening, I drove back downtown to Northwestern. I parked in my usual spot, on the usual floor.

Visiting hours were definitely over when I arrived, but when someone is nearing the end visiting hours don’t actually seem to apply. They let me in, without question.

When I got to his room, all the lights were off. They were sitting in the dark. His breathing was slow and about as heavy as the room felt. My mom had a chair pulled up next to his bed and was sitting there holding his hand. I grabbed the only other chair in the room and lifted it quietly, placing it on the other side of the bed.

I quickly understood why she wanted me there. This was our moment. The lucid moment before all the rest that would follow. I leaned in and laid my head near his arm. The three of us just existed together in quiet. Half laying there, half sitting, my back cranked at a weird angle. We were together. My dad and his girls.

There were some brief moments of conversation, but mostly we just were sharing space in silence. The silence of good-bye.

My mom eventually got up and left the room for a moment. I picked my head up and looked into his eyes. He was so tired. I knew now that this was the turn toward the end. He reached out with a soft hand, touched my hair, and held my head for a second, just looking at me.

Quietly, and in the softest voice he spoke.

“Take care of your mother.”

Pause…

… Long pause

“And be safe on the highways.”

I choked back tears just long enough to let out a laugh, then cried without making a sound as I laid my head down on his chest.

Ever the pragmatist.

Ever the kind heart.

Forever, my guy.