I reach over and lay my hand on his. “Love you, too, Dad.”
Words I’ve always longed tosay to someone and never could. As a kid, there were times I wished I could call someone that.
Before I can stop myself, I look into his eyes and say it. “She made me promise to kill her,” I whisper. “When she got so bad. She made me promise, and I did it.”
He sadly smiles and reaches up to cradle my cheek. “I know, baby. She told me. Because she made me promise to do it if you couldn’t. I wasabout a week from it, too. I was trying to get hold of some morphine I could put into her feeding tube and OD her when you finally did it. I was almost hoping you wouldn’t, so you wouldn’t have that guilt. But I couldn’t tell you that I knew, or that I promised, too.
“But after we lost her, I went to the nursing home, talked to all her caretakers, and gave them ‘thank you’ payments I said werefrom her family for the care they provided her. I’d been giving them holiday payments anyway as bonuses. That’s why she always had the best care in there. I also made them sign NDAs after she was first admitted, and told them it was because she was a politician, and it would be better for all involved if no one ever broke confidentiality, because we didn’t know if she’d reveal ‘sensitive information’with her dementia. She didn’t know I was going to do that. I wanted to make sure you were protected, even though I knew I couldn’t tell you that, either.”
Stunned, I stare at him, at the playful smile he wears. I feel a weight slip from my shoulders, which leaves in its wake pure, unadulterated relief that drives me to renewed tears.
My dad and I hold each other as we cry.
