The call


I went to bed last night fairly certain that I would wake up in a world my father no longer lived in. I was right.

I woke up suddenly, just after 2 a.m. Wide awake for no reason. At 2:26, my mom called to tell me that Dad had just died. Oddly, I didn't cry--and I think I know why.

I have no way of knowing if the following is true--it is likely only the wishful imaginings of a grieving daughter--but it comforts me to think that I woke up because, on his way out, Dad stopped to lay a hand against my cheek and say goodbye.

Earlier this week, as I was saying goodbye to him at the end of a phone call, I told him, "Call me when you get there!"

That's my dad: keeping his promises to the end.


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