My Dog and My Dad

Buried my dog, Lady, yesterday.

She had bone cancer,

ate up her back hip,

part of her spine,

and blocked her colon.

Had to put her down

before she became septic.

My dad has bone cancer

all over his body and in his brain.

Metastasized is what they said.

He lost a lot of weight

and can’t stand.

I flew to visit him.

He was in bed,

skin over bones,

big smile though.

He was wearing a prayer shawl (scarf)

around his neck,

knitted by old ladies at his church,

like I knit with at my church.

Dad was very pleased with his scarf.

He told me how they were praying for him,

and that he knew the lady that knitted it.

All of a sudden, the knitting I’d been doing

for random people I don’t know

became personal.

We reminisced.

He told old stories.

Then asked, and said

he was trying to figure out

when he would see me again,

“Are you coming to the funeral?”

Then he remembered

it’s irrelevant.

It was hard to leave.

My sister, her husband, and son

were with.

They drove.

She lives there.

She’s cried her tears.

I tried to hold mine back

while I walked away

realizing that was the last time

I’d see my dad.

I couldn’t talk.

We drove in silence for a while.

We stopped for burgers.

Mine had peanut butter

(dad liked peanut butter)

and spicy jam.

We had chips and fries.

My sister was good,

she had a salad.

Not me,

I drank Dos Equis.

We did some last minute shopping,

gifts from Minnesota for my kids.

Argued about old times,

she called her mom,

which proved her wrong,

and proved that I was right.

We looked at old pictures.

Her husband cooked us breakfast

to which her mom joined us.

They were nice to visit with,

a gracious host and hostess.

Yesterday, I got a text,

dad had stopped eating.

So as I brought Lady to the vet,

my mind and thoughts were on my dad

dying of bone cancer in his bed.

I cried for the dog.

It was very sad.

But my heart was in Minnesota

crying for dad.

The dog was my son’s.

We cried together

while we watched her die.

Brought Lady home in a box.

Help came to dig the hole,

his sister’s boyfriend,

who brought a shovel.

The two men worked together

in our southern, still hot, autumn sun.

Broke a shovel. Laughed a little.

I took photos

for his dad and other sister

who couldn’t be there.

And the day went on like normal.

Got a text in the evening,

the priest had come to see dad.

My sister was able to be there too.

This morning, I got the news,

“Dad passed away last night

between 10:20 and 10:50.”

He was ready to go.

I’m looking through old photos.

I did my crying yesterday.

I walked for dad when I got back.

I baked his favorite cake.

I checked out a book from the library that he read,

“Dying Wishes, a Haunted Yarn Shop Mystery”

I’m a knitter.

Now it’s time to read.

by:  Paula D. Nevison