Giving Notice

It was a Thursday night in early August. I was working the bar alone, and it had been a steady night. I had a vague sense that I had some messages on my phone, but I had been too busy to check them. I didn't think much about it, because I had email forwarded to my phone, so it was constantly going off with messages, the vast majority of which were unimportant.

When things slowed down a bit, I opened my phone. Instead of the usual stream of meaningless messages, I found a multitude of email and phone messages from family members in British Columbia. My heart began to sink.

As the blood drained from my face, I turned to The Animator, who was working the kitchen, and asked him to keep on eye on the bar for me. Whatever was happening, it was clear to me that it was very,very bad.

I managed to choke out ,"I need to make a call", as I headed for the door.

The conversation was short and succinct, mostly because I couldn't quite grasp what I was being told, and I needed some time to comprehend. I hung up the phone, took a puff on my smoke and stared at the sky.

My father was dead.

I took a deep breath, steeled myself and headed back to my post. After awhile it occurred to me that I would have to fly across the country and that maybe it would be a good idea to tell my boss that I was going to need some time off. I headed to the sanctuary of the dishpit to make this call.

I love denial, but when you actually have to speak the truth to someone about what is happening, the realisation becomes undeniable. As I explained the situation to Cayelle, I felt overwhelmed by emotion as I heard my voice crack over the phone. "I'm going to need some time off", I managed to choke out.

Seemingly, within seconds, Cayelle was at the door, offering comfort and telling me that I could go now if I wanted. But something inside me didn't want to go. Maybe it was my own stubbornness, something in my DNA, or just denial; but I wanted to finish my shift, and finish it without undue attention.

After the bar cleared out, I cried for my loss over a few pints, alone in the dark. But in that darkness, the light of a blessing enveloped me.

My father had been close to death previously, and I had been given the interim to realise that every remaining moment was precious. Some people don't get that opportunity.

As I quaffed my pint in that dimly lit public house I realised in my despair that I had in fact been given a great gift. Awareness of mortality, but with a little more time tacked on. I am grateful for the way my father died, because through his circumstance, he gave me notice before he quit.

I wish everyone could be given such a gift, a chance to say goodbye.

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