My dad wrote a book as he was dying.
Actually. He dictated most of it to my mom. And they didn’t get to finish. But I remember them working on it together. I’d sneak up and watch them working together, exploring old memories and putting his thoughts on paper. That’s what I remember most about his last few months, at a time where everything felt like it was spinning out of control, I’d catch my parents curled up together in bed, whispering and laughing, as they created this most precious gift.
They ran out of time though and most of the pages are blank. It’s special to me, because I remember the effort and magic that went into the finished parts. I’ve carried it with me every where, held it, ran my fingers across it, smelled it, cried on it, and even talked to it…
Tonight, for the first time, I opened it.
I could write for hours about my experiences as I read each page. But this blog is about my stretch to health.
My dad wrote of a friend, many many times, on multiple pages. So much so, that I felt compelled to Google the boy’s name. My father’s childhood best friend grew up to become a doctor.
What’s his specialty? You ask…..
And on the last page they finished, he said:
Health and happiness are the most important things
Why did I open it for the first time tonight? Why did I feel so compelled to find out what became of the little boy who liked “building stuff and fishing” with my dad?
He may not be here to tell me any more, but he always shows me where the answers are.