April 1

It's September 1988:

I never thought that weekend I spent with you would be the last.

I don't remember much. In fact, I'm not sure I remember anything. Except that I was moving to Germany soon to live with Mom. She had gone in July I think and I was to follow mid-September, staying with Mom-mom and Pop-pop in the interim.

Maybe I don't remember, because maybe I didn't even stay the weekend?

Maybe it was just a quick goodbye?

Whatever the case may be, I said goodbye at some point, having no idea the next time I'd see you would be at the hospital and then the funeral home.

It's March 1988:

I remember coming home from school to bags being packed, calls being made and confusion in the air.

Flying back to the states because you were in the hospital and really sick.

Did I even know that you had cancer?

Did I know you were dying?

I can't remember.

A long flight. I remember a baby crying nearly the whole way.

At the hospital. Did we go right from the airport?

I remember a long corridor. Beeps of various medical equipment. The swoosh of nurse and doctor scrubs as they walked past. An elevator, another long corridor and then a nurses desk. I am told to go sit in the "sitting area" not far away. There's a big window overlooking the parking lot. Your room is around the corner. I can't see, but I can hear familiar voices so I know it's close. I sit, alone, and watch traffic go in and out. I think about what all of this means and I wonder if you know I'm there.

It seems like hours later, but likely, it was just minutes and I'm called to come.

The first thing I see is your feet sticking out of the blanket. I cover them and then back away. I don't want to come close. I can't.

That's it.

My last memory of you alive. Did I come close eventually? Did I tell you one last time that I love you? Did I give you a kiss? Did you know I was there?

Why can't I remember?

your voice.

your strength.

your laughter.

Forgotten in 23 yrs of running from it all.

Now, tonight, in this quiet moment...for the first time in 23 yrs I want to remember and it's gone.

It's April 1, 1988:

I'm at Aunt Terri's. We're supposed to be going to the town Easter Egg hunt. I know now it was an attempt to distract me from all that was happening.

The phone rings.

Plans are changed.

Mom-mom is picking me up to take me home. I no longer remember the reason I was given, but I know it wasn't the truth.

A while later, we are driving North.

Me.

Mom-mom.

Silence.

I start asking questions.

She half answers, changes the subject, turns on the radio to drown me out.

I persist. Turn the radio off.

Silence for a while longer.

Then I know.

We are on the top of the old St. George's Bridge and I say, "My daddy is dead isn't he?"

She didn't have to answer.

I saw it in the tears that streamed down her face.

Assorted other memories fill my mind of the days following. Odd memories. Difficult memories. Pieces and parts of stuff that I'm sure I've got all mixed up.

Then I'm flying back to Germany.

A little girl needs her daddy, but I'm okay I decide.

I'm not a little girl anymore you know.

I'm eleven...I'll be twelve soon...

and I...

I don't need anyone!

Only, eleven year old girls aren't always as wise as they seem to be in their own eyes.

I'm 34...I'll be 35 soon....

and tonight, here in this moment of quiet, I need my daddy.