Wednesday, September 9, 2009
I thought often about the card, wishing I had taken it, returning over and over to the different elements contained within that simple note. Unaware that Dad would know a poet’s work well enough to bring verses to mind, let alone choose a piece for an epitaph, it also surprised me that he had thought about his epitaph at all. When he became ill, Dad had no financial or medical plan, not even a will, let alone a funeral plan, except for mentioning once he wished to be cremated. I felt honored that he had trusted me to perform this final duty for him. I feared the note might disappear as things frequently did around Dad, and I considered how I might obtain it. And indeed, the next time I dropped in, the note was gone.