Last time you see someone and you don't know it will be the last time. And all that you know now, if only you'd known then. But you didn't know, and now it's too late. And you tell yourself How could I have known. I could not have known.
You tell yourself.
The last time we were together was Thanksgiving. I hadn't seen Dad in a few weeks because life was racing by as it tends to do.
I remember walking into his warm, beautiful house, coming around the corner and into the kitchen. There he stood, at the counter, wearing an apron and helping prepare the feast at hand. There was a fire going in the fireplace. He smiled that smile that said, "I am so glad you're here" and I gave him a big hug.
If I take a moment to remember, to close my eyes and go to that moment in my mind, I can still feel his arms. I can feel his big, warm body. I can hear him say "Hey Scotter" with that rise in his voice. He sounded so thrilled to see me. Genuinely thrilled.
Since I hadn't seen him in a bit, I remember saying "I've missed you" in his ear as we hugged.
Softly he responded.
"Me too."
And as we pulled away from the embrace, I noticed the tears in his eyes. This small comment, letting him know I'd missed him, for some reason, tugged at his heart.
I don't remember much from the rest of that Thanksgiving. Two weeks later he'd be gone. How could I have known. If only I'd have known.
As was his custom, he walked us out to the car. Kids and Carolyn loaded up, just before getting in myself, I said "We'll talk soon, Dad. Thanks for a great night."
I remember walking into his warm, beautiful house, coming around the corner and into the kitchen. There he stood, at the counter, wearing an apron and helping prepare the feast at hand. There was a fire going in the fireplace. He smiled that smile that said, "I am so glad you're here" and I gave him a big hug.
If I take a moment to remember, to close my eyes and go to that moment in my mind, I can still feel his arms. I can feel his big, warm body. I can hear him say "Hey Scotter" with that rise in his voice. He sounded so thrilled to see me. Genuinely thrilled.
Since I hadn't seen him in a bit, I remember saying "I've missed you" in his ear as we hugged.
Softly he responded.
"Me too."
And as we pulled away from the embrace, I noticed the tears in his eyes. This small comment, letting him know I'd missed him, for some reason, tugged at his heart.
I don't remember much from the rest of that Thanksgiving. Two weeks later he'd be gone. How could I have known. If only I'd have known.
As was his custom, he walked us out to the car. Kids and Carolyn loaded up, just before getting in myself, I said "We'll talk soon, Dad. Thanks for a great night."
I can see him standing in his garage with his hands in his pockets. He looked content, as he often did after these nights of family time. We were still a family, despite the broken hearts and disappointments. These nights reminded him of that.
"OK Scott, Drive carefully. We'll talk this week."
If only I'd known.
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