Exceptional The decision to leave home Leaving Dad by Mary Vigasin True Story Contest contest entry

It had been six months and dad was still angry and hurt by what I did. Every time I tried to talk to him, our conversation was short and tense. There was just the three of us: Dad, my brother John, and myself living at home. The real head of the household, my grandmother, had passed away 8 years earlier, and my two sisters left to marry many years earlier. Of the four children, Dad and I were the closest. I was the one who went with him to the racetrack, to visit his brother, food shopping, and any other appointments or trips he wanted to take. Dad leaned on me to cook, clean, and do the laundry; I brought him home from the bar when he had too much to drink and was his ear when he became melancholy. At the time, I do not think John could even boil water. My grandmother came to run the house when John was 12. She stopped him from even helping me carry the laundry to the laundromat. Being old school, she believed that housework was for women only and that the men of the house needed to work, or in John's case, to study for his future, and to be an altar boy at our church. Now, I was 35 and was beginning to see my future as the same as the past 27 years, ----- just sitting in a laundromat and watching the laundry spin around in the machine. My daily routine never seemed to change. I had one married friend, and that was about it. It was then I decided to leave home. I had to tell dad. As was usual, he was sitting in his chair in front of the TV, and I sat on the stool in front of him. I started by telling him how much I loved him, but I had to look towards my own future; I needed to find my own way in life by getting my own apartment. He tightened his lips, his face reddened, and he got up and walked away. I started to cry begging him to understand. Instead, he walked into his bedroom and shut the door. He saw it as a betrayal. The small studio apartment I found was only 3 miles from Dad, and I made a point to check on Dad and John on Sundays, and to cook a Sunday dinner. I could not shake Dad from his anger and disappointment. Then, everything started happening so quickly. Dad was diagnosed with terminal cancer. We kept him at home with hospice with my brother taking care of dad at night. My younger sister, unemployed at the time, was able to be there during the day. It was also during this time, I met Harvey. Although he supported me during Dad's illness, I kept him away when I went home to help with Dad. While Dad knew he existed, I did not want to upset Dad during his illness. That is until Dad asked to meet Harvey. We came into the apartment, and when we came through the door, Dad smiled. He was sitting on a chair and called us over. "You know, when I get better, I want the three of us to go out to dinner." We knew he was not getting better, but knowing Dad, I knew what this meant. It was his way of saying I am sorry, and he was accepting of Harvey. I left crying not only because of Dad's illness, but it was his way of apologizing and making peace with me. A few days later, John called. Dad asked for a drink of water, and when John returned, Dad had passed away. Harvey and I went to the apartment to be with John and wait for the hospice nurse. I went over and kissed Dad on the forehead, he was at peace. Even our dog, Skootch was in mourning when he went over and licked Dad's hand and then sat by his bed. Even after all these years, one kind and thoughtful gesture stays with me about the night Dad died. The hospice nurse asked John and me to leave the room and then asked Harvey to help her clean up Dad, and help her change his bedding for when the family gathered. Harvey, after knowing me only a few months, did not hesitate to help her. Recognized

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