As I think back on that night I believe everything had happened for a reason, everything that had happened has led me to where I am now.
My father was different from then on out. He stopped drinking, he stopped smoking, he made an effort. He got a new job that was in Utah, fifteen hours away from where I grew up. My father worked long hours into the night, coming home at two or three o’clock in the morning. He took one long shaky breath when he entered the door and walked quietly over to me and gave me a kiss on the forehead, his sharp whiskers tickling me, “I love you kid,” he said squeezing my ankle. I should have jumped up, held on to him telling him that I loved him so much also, telling him that he was my best friend, telling him that I never want him to leave my side. I didn’t though. That was the last time I saw my father. It was a cold winter evening, he was coming home from the midnight shift when he fell asleep at the wheel, hit a patch of ice, and slammed into a tree. It wasn’t till the morning when he was found. When you’re a kid, you never think that your father could get hurt, he is Superman, he’s not supposed to leave you. The funeral was cold and rainy. The ground was a sinkhole, swallowing me as I stood there in the freezing cold rain that were needles going into the side of my face. The priest and I were the only ones there. The cold rain stung my face and numbed my hands. I love you kid. I didn’t want to cry, he wouldn’t want to see that. I’m so sorry son. I never wanted to do this to you. I walked into the RV after the funeral and I sat down at the small yellow folding plastic table we had in the kitchenette. The loud ticking of the clock was the only sound in the RV. Tick, tick, tick, tick. I looked out the broken window and there was a note under a rock. It flapped in the wind and was soaked from the rain. I picked it up and opened the note, it was my father’s handwriting. The ink was running and messy but it was still easy to read. Hey kid, hope you have a great day! I’ll see you tonight and we’ll talk about it.
Love you, Dad.
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