Page 33 - Marilyn

Chocolate sodas. I breathe the memories deeply as I hold my breath
to ride the wave of guilt that engulfs me when I think of that morning.
My mother was on a trip, and, independent as usual, Dad would not
sleep at our house down the street. I helped him get ready for bed the
night before and dispensed the arsenal of medications necessary for
him to battle through the night. I asked if he wanted me to sleep in the
spare room that night, but he assured me he would be fine until morn-
ing. My mind already on my husband and daughter, and my “other”
life waiting for me, I kissed him goodnight and arranged the phone
next to him so he could press the redial button if he needed me.

Tossing and turning, I didn’t sleep well that night;
although exhausted from trying to balance my over-
lapping roles- I was anxious. Up early the next morn-
ing, while getting my daughter ready for school, I
stopped myself as I reached for the phone that would
connect me to my Dad. The night before, hoping to
sleep in some, he had asked me not to call as early
as I had the previous morning. I forced myself to turn
my attention to my mothering role as I assisted my
daughter in getting ready for her day. On the way out
the door, I hurriedly dialed my Dad’s phone number.
My stomach knotted as the phone rang over and over
again. With my daughter calling for me to hurry, I left
a message that I would be over soon. Trying to quell
my raising anxiety, I told myself that he must be in the
bathroom and not hear the phone. I took my daughter
to school and kissed her goodbye. I drove the short Silvana Freestone, J.D, M.B.A. San Diego
distance to my parent’s home in record time. Knock- Realtor Woman
ing loudly, I used my key to open the door, as I often
did to save my Dad the effort of the walk to greet me. 33
As I pushed the door open, I was keenly aware of the Courtesy · Integrity · Perseverance
dim silence that greeted me. Worriedly calling for my · Indomitable Spirit
Dad, I rushed to the bedroom. An unmade bed was
all I saw.

My voice betraying the rising panic that rose like bile in my throat, I
searched the house. As I paused to take a breath, I heard a feeble
call in the darkness. Listening intently, I found my Dad in a kneeling,
fetal position on the rug at the far side of his bed. Unable to move or Coldwell Banker Residential
recall when or how he had ended up there, my heart tore as he weakly
asked in a trembling voice where I had been. The strong father of my Brokerage
childhood said he heard my voice on the phone message machine,
but he called and I didn’t come. The lonely boy told me he had been
so scared to be alone. Guilt trickled down my cheeks as I cradled him 16363 BernardoCenter Dr.
waiting for help to arrive. During the next few weeks as he battled the San Diego, CA 92128
blood clot that had formed from his frozen position that morning, guilt
was my constant companion. I tread furiously as the waves broke Business: 858-487-3333
around me. I struggled for air when it became clear that he would not Cell: 858-945-5403
recover. As I kept my bedside vigil with the rest of our family, I relived
memories of better times. After my father took his last breath, my Direct: 858-676-6129
throat closed, leaving me unable to remember how to breathe. I was Fax: 858-451-0166
drowning in an ocean of guilt, unable to find the air to go on. Then, I
remembered: Chocolate sodas. I took a breath and said goodbye to
my Dad.
May/June 2008