Meatloaf & Last Conversations

Last conversations. Have you thought about them — ones you’ve had, ones you’d like to have, and perhaps ones you’d like to do over?

This summer marks seven years since my dad died. It’s been awhile, and yet, seven years is hardly any time at all in the scheme of things, or even in the timeline of one family’s lives.

I’ve reached the point where I rarely cry when I think about my dad and how much I still miss him. This does not mean I’m done grieving or that I’m over it — both of which are ridiculous notions.

And yet, society still often sends out implied messages that perhaps there should be endpoints to both.

I say, no way.

You might want to read: One Thing You Should Never Say to Someone Who’s Experienced Loss (or a Cancer Diagnosis)

The death of my dad in some ways impacted me even more than the death of my mother from metastatic breast cancer eight years prior. Why this has been the case I’m not entirely sure, though I think it might have to do with becoming an orphan.

By the way, I also remember the last conversation I had with my mother. Actually, it was more like the last words I said to her as she was so weak I did most of the talking.

“Wait for me,” were the last words I whispered in her ear.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to wait for my return. Now, I think perhaps that was a selfish thing to ask of her. Anyway, that’s all in my memoir should you want to read more.

I bring this up because sometimes, we have regrets about how a last conversation went or about last conversations we didn’t get to have. Regrets surface and resurface, and this can add another layer of complexity to grief. I write about regret vs guilt in Emerging.

I also write about calling ourselves adult orphans in Emerging — whether or not it’s appropriate. I think the phrase fits, no matter what your age. (I don’t care what Larry David says!)

Today, to mark the passage of seven years, I’m sharing an excerpt from Emerging. It’s a chapter from “Part 2 – Loss (I’m an Orphan Now),” titled: “Meatloaf.”

The last conversation I had with my dad was about meatloaf. You might think I would avoid eating, talking about, or even seeing meatloaf now, but this is not the case. In fact, meatloaf remains one of my favorite things to eat. And now, it conjures up a wonderful, though bittersweet, memory too. Turns out, it was a pretty good last conversation we had after all.

I hope you enjoy this excerpt.

Meatloaf

I wish I could say the last conversation I had with my dad was about something really deep and meaningful, but it wasn’t. It was about meatloaf.

As I prepared to head home following what’d become one of my frequent visits due to Dad’s declining health, he was sitting up in bed enjoying his noon meal, which on that, our last-conversation day, was meatloaf. Pretty sure there were mashed potatoes and gravy too. There was also a brownie. I remember eyeing that brownie thinking maybe I should nab it since he didn’t seem to want it.

“This meatloaf is pretty good,” he said.

After a bit more meatloaf talk, I kissed him goodbye and said, “I love you,” for what was the last time I now know he heard me say those words. I went home to get new tires put on the car. Why in God’s name we had to get new tires that particular week, I do not know. David had determined we needed new tires. I was traveling back and forth between Menomonie, Wisconsin, and Madelia, Minnesota, a lot to visit Dad. I needed to be safe. I needed good tires. Yes, of course, I did. But the week we got new tires also turned out to be the week my dad went to sleep and never woke up. Those damn tires could’ve waited another week or two.

I left Dad’s hospice room at noon on Tuesday, Meatloaf Day. I came back early on Friday. By Friday, he was getting oxygen and was no longer awake. My siblings and I thought he’d wake up again. He was just extra tired, we told ourselves. He didn’t wake up…

Everybody who’s had a loved one in hospice care, understands exactly what a hospice-life schedule is like. Predictable, yet unpredictable. As David describes it, you live “The Jack Reacher way” — you eat and sleep when you can — you do whatever you need to do when you can, including getting new tires.

I hope you found this excerpt meaningful, and that it got you thinking about last conversations you’ve had or would like to have with dear ones. I also hope it helps you let go of regret and be more at peace about a last conversation you had that didn’t go as you had wanted, or didn’t get to have at all.

Regardless, I’d love to hear about a last conversation you’ve had or wanted to have.

Sharing about these memories can be healing and at some point, even bring smiles. But tears are okay too.

If you want to read more, you can purchase Emerging on Amazon and most other online booksellers.

Oh, and I almost forgot to mention, if you prefer to avoid Amazon, you can purchase a professionally formatted PDF version HERE. Because options are good, right?

Thank you for reading!

If you like this post, thank you for sharing it!

Tell me about a last conversation you’ve had with a dear one.

Do you feel regret regarding a last conversation you’ve had or didn’t get to have?

Who would like your last conversation to be with, and what would you like it to be about?

Do you have a grief trigger that makes you smile (or cry) now?

Click on the image above to order your copy of Emerging.

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