“It’s so hard to just give in. I have fought with everything I have though and I just don’t think I can do it anymore,” she said, looking up at my dad from the couch. “The hardest thing is that I don’t want to go without you, but I know I’m going to have to. I know I don’t have much time.”
“It’s okay. I know you have to go first. It won’t be that long and I’ll be there, too,” he said.
“No, you’ll be here a long time yet. Your family lives a long time. But it’s okay, I’ll be waiting for you when you do get there.”
I watched my mom and dad have this conversation on the morning of Saturday, January 5, 2019, one week before mom died. That moment felt like such a privilege and I scribbled the conversation in my journal when I got home.
They would have been married 62 years today. It was a beautiful, warm day in 1958. They had their whole lives ahead of them. Yesterday, my older brother would have turned 60. Instead, he is forever 36.
I have the Mount Everest of work caused by the pandemic to thank for not letting me get stuck on what I miss. But, every once in awhile, I find my way back.