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.