The Last Night of Dad, and the Day After

      We were driving up to Waterford, and it was later. It was probably about 8:00pm. Dad was usually tired, having to work the night shifts at good life Monday night to Thursday night. He had recently quit his weekend night job, so now he had Friday to Sunday nights off instead of just Sunday. Yet, tonight I could tell it was different. Although he was usually exhausted, I knew something was off about it tonight. He had to stop for a while at the side of the road to rest his eyes for a few minutes. Right then, I should have known something was very wrong, but I just brushed it off.

       As we started driving again, my dad began to talk. I don’t remember everything he had said, but I know he said, “It’s okay to cry when you miss someone. There is nothing wrong with it.”  His eyes started to water. “I still miss my Granny so much, and that’s never going to change.” As he said it, quietly crying, Rachel was crying in the back seat. I knew she was crying because she missed our grandpa, who had passed away almost 2 years ago.

       I sat in the front seat, looking out the window, with tears silently dripping down my face. I was a little sad about my grandpa to, but that wasn’t why I was crying. I was crying for my dad. He had been sick for about 3 years now, with bad heart problems, and everyone who knew him well enough knew that. I had been living with him for just over a year now, and I had cried a million tears for him in that time. I never wanted to admit it to myself, but I knew, there wasn’t going to be that much longer.

       So as he said this, I cried for him, even though he was still alive. In my conscience mind, I knew he was crying for his Grandma, and that it was silly to cry over someone who was alive and sitting right beside me, but I guess, somehow, subconsciously, that he was actually talking about himself. Telling us that when he was gone, it would be okay to cry when we missed him.

       Shortly after, I had thought that somehow, he had known it would soon be his time, that his long, and very painful near the end, road was coming to an end. I latter found out that his doctor had told him, earlier that week, that he wouldn’t live to the end of the summer, but I doubt he thought he would die that soon.

       We had finally made it to Waterford. He was still quiet tired, so he took a nap, well I went to see my aunt, uncle and two cousins, who lived a 2 minute walk away. I came back with my aunt after an hour or so, and dad was still sleeping, so she left to go home. This was at about 11:00pm. Within 15 minutes, dad came down to make a snack, which was quite normal for him. He made a sandwich and gave me half of it, and watched as me and Granny played cribbage.

       It was about midnight when he went to go back upstairs to sleep. I gave him a hug, kissed him on the cheek, and said goodnight. Little did I know that that was the last hug I would ever get from him, the last words that we would speak to each other. I went to bed half an hour later. I set my alarm for 5:45am the next morning, planning to make some fresh made buns. It was his birthday.

I didn’t  feel like getting up quite yet, and I was turning off my phone alarm, when he woke up to, and checked his phone, I ducked under the covers, so he wouldn’t see the light from my phone and know I was awake to. It was about 6am, before we both fell back to sleep. I got up 30 minutes later, not bothering to look at the bed across the room, with him laying on it. I don’t know if he was still alive at that point or not.

I’d made the buns, and just about everyone was up, my other aunt had made it to Waterford the same day as us, but had gone to bed fairly early. I went upstairs to wake up my sister at about 7:30. We had gotten one of those recording cards for my Dad for his birthday, but we hadn’t gotten a chance to record anything yet. When I went up to wake her, I noticed that his 1 eye was half open, but I thought nothing of it as I woke my sister and we snuck out of the room.