We pull into the new parking lot—the space in front of the hospice center, finding Journey’s car already parked in one of the first spots. "I guess she didn’t sleep either.”
"It’s hard to sleep when you know you’re running out of minutes," she says.
The hospice center has a homier feel than the hospital, and also fewer reminders of medical intervention. The decor offers the slightest bit of comfort as we walk through the hallway toward Dad’s room.
I don’t think either of us was expecting to see Dad sitting up, laughing with Journey, though.
A moment of hope, is that what we were getting?
"Dad? You’re up and talking!" I announce as if he doesn’t already know.
"Things aren’t so bad today," he says. There is still a weakness in his voice, but his smile—the smile he’s always worn—it’s intact.
Mom rushes to be by his side and hugs him tightly, peppering kisses all over his face. "I’m so happy to see you’re up today," she tells him.
"They’re taking good care of me here," he says.
"That’s wonderful.” With a small sense of hope lifting some of the heavy weight from my chest, I take a seat on the edge of his bed.
"I think we need to have a family meeting, though," he says, clearing his throat.
I’m sure I can speak for the three of us by wanting to say:let’s just enjoy this time, but we need to hear him out. "Well, we’re all here, sweetie," Mom says, gleaming while staring into his alert eyes.
"We can’t control what happens tomorrow," he begins. "But, I need you three to promise me you will keep living on, for me." It’s hard to agree when I want to say there’s no way, we can promise such a thing. "Journey, you are going to become a world-renowned photographer, and Melly, your TV and movie scripts will hit the big screen, I know it," he says looking between Journey and me. "Marion, you’re still young, and I don’t want you to be alone for the rest of your life."
"No, Harold, I don’t want you talking like this," she argues.
"I know you don’t want to hear this, but I need you to know it’s okay if you find someone who makes you happy. I want you to be happy, but when your day comes, when you’re ninety-nine and three-quarters, I get you back. Are we clear on this?” Dad is smiling, joking as if this is a hypothetical joke. How can he see so clearly? How can be this okay?
Mom’s gaze drops to their entangled hands. "I don’t know, Harold."
"You don’t have to. I just want you to know how I feel."
"I appreciate your love," she says, sounding heartbroken.
"Girls, I’m sorry I can’t walk you down the aisle when or if you get married someday, but your mother will do so, and I will be there for every important moment of your lives. The letters you haven’t read—the information inside will keep me with you." I haven’t been able to imagine the words written on the paper within the envelope. There are only so many ways to say goodbye and I love you. "Whatever you do with The Barrel House, is the right decision. This is your life, your lives, and I want you to do what makes you happy, not what made me happy."
"Dad, we can’t—"
"Melody," he interrupts. "If you keep it for you, only do so if you find a passion in the art of making bourbon. Otherwise, you will be running a distillery and a retail shop filled with a product that doesn’t bring you happiness, and I know it’s not what you want in life."
"You are a part of the shop, and it isn’t something we can let go of.”
"I am a part of you, all of you, whether or not you are in the shop," he says. "And if you sell it to Bill—you know they’re like family. It’s close enough. He will be there to help or take over ... whichever you prefer. We have a deal, he and I."
"A deal?" I ask.
"When a person has lived long enough, they become wise, and though I know no one knows how life will unfold, Bill and I—we’re on the same page." I don’t understand what he’s talking about, and I think he knows this. However, Mom is smiling, which tells me she knows what he’s talking about. "Life will unfold as it should. Embrace it."
A startling raw cough burns through Dad’s lungs, reminding us of the reason we’re having this conversation and where we are. "I love you, Dad."
"I love you," Journey adds.
"We all love you so much," Mom utters.
"Our love will outlive all of us. Never forget," he says.
We take turns hugging him, staring into his eyes, memorizing the parts of him we will yearn to remember someday.
