9) Today My Dad Went Home
The call came sooner than I wanted, yet later than I expected.
My father stopped breathing this morning about 2 a.m.
As my wife drove me to the rehab facility sadness spread into every cell in my body. I entered his room and he was still.
I will miss him.
His bottle of Tabasco on his tray took me back to Dad putting it on most of what he ate, with the exception of ice cream.
My wife, mother and sister came in. We hugged and cried and sat with him for a while.
Sitting at home sorting through my emotions. I picture my dad with my brother who passed away nearly 5 years ago. They’re fishing in a boat on a pristine lake, drinking a beer, telling tale tales.
Dad’s got his Tabasco, dripping it on a slice of cheese on a cracker, swishing it down with a Sam Adams.
At peace.
