My car is overdue for an oil change.
I've been thinking about it and not doing it, and feeling guilty, but still postponing. And then Nick asked, out of the blue, if I'd gotten my oil changed recently.
I burst into tears. "My dad always does that for me."
Did. I mean did.
I find myself talking about my dad in the present tense sometimes. "My dad likes...liked..."
He's been so much on my mind lately. I've been crying very easily at the thought of him.
The other night I dreamt that he invited an old boyfriend - someone I was with for a significant time period - over for dinner.
And I knew my dad was dead as I was dreaming it, but there we were, having dinner.
A couple weeks ago, Nick's uncle, who had colon cancer that ultimately spread to his bones, called to say he was going to end his life the following morning. He was in too much pain. He couldn't suffer any longer. He was saying his goodbyes.
He lived in Switzerland, where apparently they have assisted suicide.
And so, one by one, the family called him to say goodbye.
I think about that, and how I would've liked a goodbye.
I don't even know what our final conversation was about. Consumer Reports and carseats or something stupid like that, I think. But I can't remember. This bothers me.
You'd think he would've called for some kind of goodbye conversation.
Maybe it had been too much, too long. I know he didn't want to chance being saved again. We'd have tracked down the hotel or the cell phone. Maybe that was it.
Or maybe goodbye was just too hard.