“Thank you, my dear.”
Those were the last words I ever heard my father speak to me.
At the time, I didn’t know they would be the last words.
I had called to check in on him and let him know I’d be visiting in a few days. He had been sick for some time, and I could tell his voice was fainter than it had been during prior calls. But even as I spoke to him on the phone, I believed he would get better.
By the time I saw him, a few days later, he was no longer capable of speaking to anyone. He was “conscious.” But it wasn’t the same. And seeing him, I knew it was just a matter of time.
My core family unit was comprised of my father and mother, myself and my two younger brothers. Aside from waiting for me, he also waited for one of my brothers to make it home.
Sitting there at his bed side while my amazing, amazing mother took care of him, we kept saying, “He’s coming. Wait for him. He’s on his way. Please wait.”
My other brother, the youngest of the family, had already begun moving his things back home to help out my mother. He, too, was and is amazing. I am very blessed to be a part of my core family unit.
The day after the brother who was on his way made it home, twenty four hours after he rushed through the door, my father made his transition.
It’s been almost two years now.
I’ve added the words, “Thank you, my dear” and the act of waiting for my brother and myself to make it home so we could say our goodbyes in person, to the long list of things I’ll always be grateful to him for.
Happy Father’s Day, Daddy. And for everything that you’ve given me, and for the love I know you continue to give as you watch over me, thank you, my dear.