for a few minutes, thinking of how everyone I’m surrounded by, my father included, spent their lives trying to accumulate more and more wealth. And while it might buy you the best health care and allow you access to the world’s foremost experts, when it comes down to it, you could have all the money in the world, but it doesn’t make a difference if your time has come.
I step forward and sit on the bed, resting back against the headboard like I do on my daily visits. I don’t know if my father can even hear me or respond anymore.
“Papi, I’m going to miss you. I wish you weren’t leaving us, but I don’t want you to be in pain either. I’ll take care of Mom. I know she’ll never really get over your loss, neither of us will, but I’ll do what I can to make sure she’s as happy as she can be.”
He doesn’t respond, so I assume this will be a one-sided conversation. Still, I don’t want anything left unsaid. I have to believe that he can still hear me.
“I want to thank you for being the best dad ever. I grew up knowing that I was loved. I realize now that not everyone was as fortunate as I was. Thank you for loving me and never making me feel like I had to change who I was to deserve your love. That’s the greatest gift you’ve ever given me.”
A lone tear runs down my face, and I swipe it away. He might not be able to see me, but I want him to leave this world knowing I’m strong and will get myself and my mother through this.
“I hope you leave us knowing we loved you the same.”
I reach out and take his hand in mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. His lips part and I suck in a breath. A whisper of sound leaves his lips, but I can’t make out the words.
“Shh, Papi, it’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.”
But he tries again, this time a little louder. I still can’t make out the words, so I lean my ear down to his lips and hear a strangled, “Be happy. Live. Promise.”
Tears well in my eyes again, but I will not let them fall. Not now. There will be plenty of time for that later.
I squeeze his hand again. “I promise.” Leaning down, I place a gentle kiss on his forehead and sit back up.
“How about I read to you?” I turn and look over at the nightstand. There’s a pile of business magazines and newspapers I haven’t been able to read to him over the past few days, so I pick up the one on top and begin reading.
The nurse comes in a few times to try and make my dad more comfortable, even though it’s clear he’s waning. After she leaves for the last time, I whisper to my dad, “It’s okay to stop fighting, Papi. Go in peace knowing you’re loved.”
Then I pick up another newspaper and read more to him.
I keep reading, even when the words blur because I’m fighting back tears. Even when I stop noticing the movement of my father’s chest rising and falling. Even when I hear a gurgling sound and then nothing at all.
I keep reading because I don’t know how long it takes a soul to rise to heaven, but I want it to be my voice that guides my father there.
Eventually my voice grows hoarse and raw and I look down over at my father. His eyes are closed, and though anyone who came in here might think he’s sleeping, he’s actually passed.
It’s him, but somehow, it’s not. He looks almost like a bad photocopy of himself, not the original.
“Te extra?aré, Papi.” The tears drip down my cheeks and I lean over and kiss his forehead, squeezing my eyes shut.
I wish this was a fairy tale and my tears landing on his face would bring him back to life, but this is real life. And in real life, good people die before their time.
Memories of my father and me rush like film slides behind my eyelids, one after the other. The worst part of it is, I’ll never be able to make new ones with him now—my wedding day with Garrin, the birth of his first grandchild, me winning my first case in court, Sunday morning brunches at the country club, along with small mundane things like texting him in the middle