Time

“It’s time to turn in,” E said . “Alright, I’m on my way,” said A, her spouse. “Good night, David, see you tomorrow. It’s so good to have you here,” she said as she gave me a good strong hug. She shuffled off to the master bedroom, adjacent to the living room, yawning as she went.

“So, how have you been,” E asked when we were alone, sitting on the couch opposite the one where I was perched.

“The job’s fine,” I responded, “not difficult; nothing that I can’t handle at this stage of my life.”

I talked about being closer to family and some friends that I grew up with. I told her that it was good that I’ve been able to stop by my father’s resting place and reflect; something I hadn’t been able to do in the past because I was so far away.

“The one thing that I know, is that I’ll never get over it, even after all these years. I get so emotional when I go there, as though I’m back there on the day of the funeral. Then I look at the date, his name and realize how long ago it was.”

“Why do you feel that way,” she asked. “I’ve been in therapy for years, maybe I can help you with it.”

“That‘s true,” I said, smiling. “But your relationship with your father was more complicated than mine was.”

“It was, that‘s part of why I was in therapy for so many years,” she replied, “but yours wasn‘t.”

“I don’t know, I suppose, because I never had a chance to say goodbye to him. That's the one thing I got to do with N's mother that I couldn't do with my father.”

“Well, you couldn’t, could you?”

“I should have known, should’ve known that he was near the end and made a point of getting my butt up there to see him one last time.”

“But you did get up there when you knew, right? I see this is difficult, let me come over and sit next to you. I can see you’re hurting , and I don’t want you to feel that way,” she said gently, as she joined me on the couch and took my hand.

“I still should have known, should have called more when he wasn’t well to know how he was doing so that I could be there.”

“You did what you could at the time. He wouldn’t want you to feel this way, would he?”

“No, he wouldn’t.”

“Well, then you shouldn’t feel that way.”

“It doesn’t make it go away, make me feel...”

“I realize that. Have you thought about writing down your feelings? I did that with my father after he was gone and it helped me out. Will you do that? Promise me that you’ll do that?”

“I know you’re right, it doesn't make it easy, though. But I’ll work on it.”

“No, really, you need to write it down. Promise me, please? I don’t want you to hurt forever over it.”

“I’ll do that, might take me awhile because it is hard, but I’ll try,” as I fought back tears once again.

We sat in silence for awhile, side by side. Me, in comfort, lots of emotion near the surface (trying to control, of course), a kind, caring friend holding my hand. After a short while, she spoke up.

“It’s getting late, let’s get off to sleep.”

“Sounds like a good idea to me,” I sighed.

I moved toward the stairs to go to the guest room, while she walked toward her room, looking back at me with a concerned smile.

“Good night. See you in the morning.”