Love from a to Z

You don’t get my deal, and I don’t get yours. Like you being chicken to
tell your dad about your MS.
Beside me, Dad started heaving, pounding sobs taking over his body.
I immediately got up, made my way to his side.
He wiped his eyes with the bottom of his T-shirt and spoke through his
tears. “What I can’t get over with Mom’s death is not her death; it’s how I
wish I could have helped her more. I don’t feel like I did enough.”
“Dad, you were there for Mom. I remember so clearly. You were
unbelievable, with your support.” He really was. So much that, in my head,
I couldn’t see Mom at the end of her life without seeing Dad somewhere in
the background, ready to help, ready to do something. And everything.

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“You know how I like to research?” He wiped his eyes again and looked
at me.
I nodded, kneeling to put my arm around his shoulder.
“I’ve now learned that there is so much out there that I wish we could
have at least tried, instead of sitting back and watching Mom’s MS
progress.”
“But you did what you could with what you knew then.”
“But that information was available then, too. I just never looked for it.”
He let the tears fall again.
I let him cry, and me a bit too. “But, Dad, you yourself taught me not to
look back. Just forward and ask for guidance moving on, forgiveness for the
past.”
He took a breath and swallowed before putting an arm out to me. “You’re
right, but I still haven’t learned to take my own advice.”
“That’s okay.”
“Look at me, crying about the past, when you’ve got something to face in
the present.” He gripped my shoulder. “But I promise you: You’ll never
face it alone. As long as I’m alive.”
“And as long as Hanna’s alive.” I swallowed and smiled. “I guess that’s
why I came back home.”
“You did right. In leaving school. And I’m so glad you have something to
focus on too, with your making things and your workshop. You’re going to
be okay. I’ll be here to make sure of it.”
The timer on my phone went off, and I thought about the lasagna and the
salad waiting already. And Hanna coming down, holding her newly
arranged rock-collection display case, most probably. “I’m just glad to be
home.”
We both stood, and, though it was the first thing on my mind, Dad
reached for a hug before I did. When we broke apart, he smiled. “I can’t
wait to see my Boba Fett helmet, so tell your friend to send it over right
away.”
As I silenced the timer and we made our way to the patio doors, I had a
sudden thought. Ms. Raymond is the best.
Without her prepping Dad, I don’t know if it would have gone like it had.

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