I was sleeping in a narrow cot next to my dad’s hospital bed when I was pulled back into full consciousness and my eyes opened abruptly in the semi dark room.
I jumped to my feet and stood over my dad.
In his sleep, he took a breath.
And that was it. His last one.
Six years ago today.
And I am not writing this for comments or likes or sympathy, but as plea.
A plea for expanded kindness, a plea for love without conditions, and a plea for the full surrender of trivialities.
Because we’re all headed for the same place. And if it’s not you first, you’ll watch it happen to your loved ones.
And it’s so insane, literally, that we live like this isn’t true. But we’re all fruit flies. Here for just a little bit. And only love will make it worth the trip.
Thank you for sharing this moment with me. If I reach the heart of just one person, it will make the pain of putting down the last one hundred and seventy-six words worth it.