“What’s wrong with him?”
“Brain tumor. So, take my advice and see him. That’s the only freedom I’ll allow right now.” He stands and moves toward the door. “You can go everywhere except my room or the west side of the apartment.”
With that information, he leaves me with the sting of his words about Dad. I also notice he doesn’t close the door.
I stare at the opened door and allow our conversation to sink in. When I think of Dad, my insides cave.
He’s dying.
When I decided I never wanted to see him again, I accepted I’d hear this type of news one day or hear he was dead. What I never thought about was how I would feel.
I never thought I’d feel this emptiness for him in this way.
I felt the same emptiness when he blamed me for Mom’s death and didn’t want to hear the truth.
When he dies, though, he’ll be gone forever, and whatever I feel now won’t matter.