I decided to come home this weekend because my suitemates have been driving me absolutely crazy, and I definitely needed the break.
When I got home, my parents had some stuff to give me that I'd needed, and after I'd checked out my Cool Stuff (work gloves, ear plugs, and safety goggles for Scene Shop work, shoe inserts, and a sleep mask to shield me from the harsh light of reality television my roommate leaves on at night), my dad held something out to me.
I knew exactly what it was before he said anything.
My dad's friend died on Labor Day; he had been fighting cancer, and for obvious reasons, my parents didn't tell me until now. I had exams that week, and it wasn't like I could have missed class for the funeral. (Attendance with most of my professors is really strict.) But my dad went, and he said it was a great service.
He was survived by his wife, siblings, and other family members. He never had any kids.
The strange thing was, something told me to go visit him that Saturday I was home, but I didn't listen to that little voice in my head. And I should have. I don't know if it would have made a difference, if I would have gotten that same vibe and just known somehow that it was a final goodbye. I had a distinct feeling that dad was dodging my questions about his condition because he'd passed without me knowing.
I don't know. Death is strange like that.
There's a reason why I always tell my parents "I love you" when I talk to them while I'm away.
