Dad, You Died So Suddenly

Well, Dad,
I got a call eight-thirtyish this morning, and it turns out you had died last night. Your heart stopped. Of course you were 86-years-old, and on dialysis, so it shouldn't have been a surprise, and yet it was. You did warn me in the days leading up to today that you felt you would not last much longer, but then, I suppose I had numbed myself to your words. I didn't want to deal with the implications of what that meant, couldn't deal with it emotionally.

After spending a full day with that knowledge, I still find that I can only deal with your death in short little bursts. I don't think I can let it all out all at once. The mourning will have to come out in little dribs and drabs. I can't deal with anything stronger.

I feel guilty that I was not kinder to you in the past few months. It's true what people say, that you regret what you did not do, not what you did do.

I want to thank you for calling me last Friday to and that you asked me to do something, something that I could do, so that the last time we saw each other was an amicable meeting. I want to thank you for leaving me the best memento you could have left me, a dog whom you loved dearly. I love him dearly, too, and your dog (my dog now) provides me with so much comfort and helps me to dull the pain. It's as if you did not leave me, and I can continue to provide you with some service.

I am so glad I took the dog with me when I saw you Friday. Fate was very, very kind to me to have given me that memory.

Your daughter