I’m sorry, but this wasn’t meant to happen. You know, earlier this month we had a long talk and discussed how you needed a stent surgery. I felt relieved you were still alive then, especially after that last hospital stay in January. Somehow I knew you were going to make it past this hiccup. I felt so confident that you’d get that surgery this March, just a few weeks away, and I thought it would’ve added at least another 10 years to yourself. The VA had been very good to you and had already saved your life once, no*twice* before (not counting that time you jumped from a burning apartment years ago). You were like a cat who already spent 3 out of 9 lives, maybe more, but you still had plenty left in you. I wasn’t worried, because your words and jovial ways always gave me confidence and hope.
Dad, I’m sorry you missed that important doctor’s appointment last Wednesday, they must had thought you had overslept and missed the VA bus. I’m glad they became even more concerned when calls were still left unreturned the next day.
On that same Wednesday, I was having my own doctors’ appointment, and already was planning on calling you today (Monday), so we could go over what our doctor’s said and update each other.
But, that call never happened...
Instead the call that came was on a Thursday, from a kind officer who calmly asked me for my name and if you were my father. He asked me to find a chair to sit down in, as my mind flashed to you back in the hospital. But, sadly it was much worse. I was told that you were no longer here, and that you had expired in your sleep from natural causes.
I am still shocked.
Your passing is still so hard for me to believe. Because for all our good times we spent talking, we never focused that there would ever be an end. Not this soon. Not this abrupt. I’m just so sorry there wasn’t more holidays and birthdays spent together. I wish I had a Tardis now to find you back in time somewhere. Just for one more day.
I love you, Dad...I might not get to call you today as planned, but I’ll still be sending you my thoughts and love a little bit each and everyday.
You’re part of the universe now, Dad, just as Carl Sagan once profoundly said, “We are made of starstuff.”
Thank you for giving me the best childhood full of culture, full of books, libraries, golden age movies, classical music, camping, Disneyland and happy memories.
You know I’ve kept all my favorite toys and books, Dad
and I’m still here drawing thinking of you across the universe.
Love, your daughter, (still on this tiny blue dot)
Wendi (aka Tavisha)