I hold my memories near and dear to my heart.
But I will remember a particular day in 2004. When my dada had his heart attack and was in the hospital. And I went to see him. And he asked me how I was instead of vice versa…and then giggled and pointed to a female nurse he had patted on the back, thinking she was me, and who wouldnt approach him now.
He died later that month, held on only as long as I got to the hospital room. When I ran into the ICU, mama told him out loud that I had arrived. I saw him take one deep breath then, his last.
Why this memory? Because that was a person who truly loved me like no other, so much so that he waited to say goodbye to me.
