It was late summer of 2007 when my uncle and cousin walked into the Washington, DC, office where I worked. This was where I received some of the most surprising news I would ever receive — that my father had unexpectedly and suddenly passed away.
That evening, I found myself hastily packing a bag to return to North Carolina to bury my father. I didn’t necessarily want to be making the trek to my home state, but things were happening fast.
“I don’t want to do this,” I said to my cousin.
“I know,” he replied. “We will try to buy time until the funeral.”
Less than twenty-four hours later, I walked dazed into the funeral home and began the funeral planning process.
On Regret and Realisation
All this time, I lamented the unfairness of never being able to say goodbye. I chastised myself for not returning that last phone call in time, for not getting out of the car to hug my father on the last time that I’d seen him because I was in a rush. The most that I could do now was to frame photos for the memorial and grieve with my brother over our adored dad.
