It was October 2013, the day before his 60th
birthday. He was getting ready to leave
for Mayo Clinic in Minnesota to talk about options. I think there was some kind of movement going
on in his cancer. The place I worked at
at the time gave me an hour lunch break and I used to come home and have lunch
with my dad every day. He waited to have
lunch with me before making the trek north, all by himself.
I had snuck a homemade birthday card in his car where he
usually would keep his phone and wallet.
I knew he would find it eventually.
I made sure I had my phone on silent camera mode, he
probably won’t like that I was taking a photo.
I gave him a hug as I was taking a hundred photos, hoping one would look
alright. Then we got in our cars and
drove our separate ways. It took me 15
minutes to get to work and I bawled the entire way.
I remember this one, tiny, insignificant moment so
clearly.
What I would do to go back there for a moment.
Just for one little hug.
Happy birthday, daddy.