By Chamisa Wheeler
It’s OK, I tell my 37 year old self…
It’s really not.
I have not seen my father in 27 years until 2 days ago.
2 days ago, I said Hello and a final Goodbye, in person, as my dad is lying in a bed, dying in a nursing home, after a short visit of 25 minutes and it was apparent it was time to leave…I said “I love you Dad”with a kiss on his forehead and walked out of the room.
Excuse my french, but what the fuck do you do with that?
Backtrack to last week:
I got THE phone call last week. The ONE call, I knew would happen at some point, for many years now, knowing it would come, and still not knowing what the hell I would with it when it came.
I had thoughts before…had visions of what could happen. I saw myself driving with my brothers to go see our dad…see the town he lived in, called home. Hoped it wouldn’t be at his funeral, but in my thoughts, it was possible…Or maybe we wouldn’t go at all.
Had many years to think about this moment and I thought I had prepared myself. Continue Reading…