Dearest

My father is dying.  Typing those words makes me want to scream.  My mother says he is and so do his somber friends who call to make sure I’m ok and ask why they haven’t heard from me in so long.

A few weeks ago when my mother told me the news, I angrily questioned all her years of medical knowledge.  Her nurse practitioner training was absolutely wrong about this.  Congestive heart failure.  Of all things.  She was wrong.  Over-exaggerating.

I would pretend I never heard it.  My body betrayed me as my mind encapsulated the news and prepared to bury it.  I worked to purge this virus of a lie, but could not stop my wordless, tearless heaving.  Since that moment, air is too thick to breathe and my heart beats only against my will.

Not true.  Absolutely not.

Daddy, hold on.  I am an ocean away.  A decade away from that promise of success.  Grandchildren.  Celebration.   All I have for you is missed conversations.  Things put off.  Panic.  Not enough time.

I’m left breathless around the choke of disappointment.  The loss of this love is not one I can imagine.

I will not.  Hold on.  So will I.