‘Idon’t have much time left, really.”
My father’s voice on the other end of the line reminds me of my grandfather’s.
It’s been nearly ten years since I heard that voice. I’m making beds. I can see Dad at his breakfast table.
“At best, maybe fifteen years. I’m on my last chapter.” He pauses and I let the empty space beckon answers.
Grandpa died at eighty. Dad will turn sixty-three this coming year.
“I need a plan. I don’t think I’ve had one. “
I pull the sheets up, smooth out the bed’s coverlet in coming light, then wait, listening to Dad think.
I’m hesitant to say anything. Best he find the way.
But I’m still, just standing here, knowing that we are moving out into hallowed ground. I wait. Then venture into the space with only a question.
“Well, how do you want that last chapter to read, Dad?”
“I want to end happy.”
I sit on the edge of the bed, sunlight warm on my back, and ask slowly, “And what do you think brings happiness?”