Well, I awoke in relief.
My sheets and tubes were all tangled weak from whiskey and pills, in a Chicago hospital.
And my father was there, in a chair, by the window, staring so far away.
I tried talking, just whispered, “…so sorry…so selfish…”
He stopped me and said, “Child, I love you regardless and there’s nothing you could do that would ever change this. I’m not angry. It happens. But you just can’t do it again.”
How grateful I was then to be part of the mystery,
to love and to be loved.
Lets just hope that is enough.