Last Conversation

When a death is unexpected you do not get to choose what your last words were to the person who died. Your last conversation may have been brief, long, boring, or so ordinary you cant even recall it exactly, or perhaps for some unlucky souls, it was an argument or out right fight. If you're lucky, it was a good one.

The last time I spoke to my father was the Thursday before he died, so October 23rd, 2008. I was on my way home from work and though we often talked every week I had not talked to him since I had returned from the family reunion that had been held three weeks earlier. I had been overwhelmed with my full time schedule at school and work. But I called him that night like I often called him or my sister Rhea when I was driving home (I try and utilize every free moment fully!). We didn't talk long, maybe 20 mins or so. We were both tired. Me from my hectic schedule, Dad from cleaning up the debris from a fire that had burnt a whole trailer, and part of the trailer court and hill behind it on my grandmothers land. I could hear how tired he was in his voice.

What we talked about though was Christmas and how he had hoped he could come down to California to see Josslyn but thought he would have to wait till the next year. We both agreed she'd be even more fun at Christmas in another year but expressed hope that maybe things would fall into place for that year. Then we talked about me and when I was little and how he'd never forget the Christmas he and my mother got me a bouncing rocking horse. He said I had come out that morning and seen the horse by the tree and my eyes bugged out of my head and for a moment I stood like that, arms out, mouth open, as if in complete disbelief. Dad said once I recovered I made a bee-line for it and basically refused to get off of it for the next several hours (technically, the next several months - a few of my earliest memories involve it!) completely uninterested in any of the other gifts. I was 22 months old. My sister Rhea would be born just a few days later.

I know we talked about a few other things. I remember talking about school and how old I felt in all my classes packed full of 19 year olds. That I was aghast at some of the things they said and also wore. Dad laughed at me and said how he loved hearing me talk about being old and all the obnoxious young people. I know we talked about the particulars of the fire clean up and I remember cautioning him to take care of himself and to rest. At the end we wished each other a good night and said we loved each and promised to talk soon. I am so thankful for that. Of course had I known I would never speak to my father ever again, I would have added a few more things...maybe kept him on the phone just a little longer. But I am happy we had one of our typical bird walking funny conversations that we always had, and that we said we loved each other at the end. We usually did, but not always...but I am so glad we did that night.

I had been busy at work on Monday the 27th and my boss had never allowed personal calls at the office (i.e. no one had my office number) so when I left at 7:30pm and looked at my phone I had 5 or 6 missed calls. Most were from my sister's number, and one from my father's number. I remember knowing, immediately, that something bad had happened since Rhea knew my schedule and would never have called that many times unless something really urgent was going on. My immediate reaction was, well, at least Rhea and Dad are okay if they are both calling me. Rhea's message was first and she was obviously in real bad shape, she said something terrible had happened and she needed to talk to me. The next message should have been from my father since it was his number that called...but it wasn't him, it was my Aunts voice that came over the line. She was also vague but sad sounding in the message and as I hung up the phone to call her I remember begging in my mind that Dad would only be just hurt, hurt enough that he couldn't talk, but not so bad that he wouldn't ever talk....please, please, just be hurt. But of course, he was a lot more than hurt. By time I found out, he had already been gone for almost 24 hours.

In all the grief and rage that followed (I literally swore like a sailor in my Aunts ear for 30 minutes that night) days and weeks later, I went back to that final conversation many times, trying to retrace it and to remember it. Like I said, bits of it were so ordinary I cant recall them, I just know the main juicy bits of it. And I guess those parts will have to do and are much more than even my sisters have. Both had gone much longer without talking to him but have their own stories of their last (unknowingly) conversations with him. Ours just happened to be about me and my love of a rocking horse.