His Last Words

His Last Words

“I love you, baby. Good night.”

I can still remember the exact time and date. June 7, 2008 at 9:10 p.m. I sat at the kitchen table with my feet propped up against the side of another chair and my mother’s cell phone glued to my ear. The sound of sizzling food echoed in the background while my sister and best friend continued their casual conversation.
“I love you too, Daddy. Good night.”

It was an average day in my eighth grade year. I woke up, went to school, and hoped to make it out alive. Fortunately, it was one of the last days of school and every student was filled with excitement. Class periods were spent watching movies or playing card games, but seemed to be endless.
I remember sitting in English class and playing a card game with a few of my friends. Laughs and immature jokes were exchanged as we laid down each card. We all sat together, bored and impatient. We spoke of how much we were going to miss one another over the summer break and what plans we had already made.
The classroom phone rang for student check-outs and became redundant after a while, but I was startled when Mr. Pittman called my name.
“Haley, you’re being checked out, dear.”
‘A little unusual,’ I thought, but I assumed it was just my sister checking me out. I collected my belongings and hiked my book bag unto my shoulders.
“Bye, you guys. I’ll see ya tomorrow!”
I remember walking down the hallway and up the stairs staring at my dingy, pink flamingo sneakers. I was relieved that I didn’t have to sit in that lifeless classroom any longer. I expected to meet my sister in the office, but I found myself walking up to my mother instead. Her eyes were noticeable red and irritated against her pale face.
“Hi, Mom. What’s wrong?”
She didn’t say a word.
“Mom, what happened?”
She remained silent and headed towards the glass doors. We walked out into the hot, humid air.
“Wait until we get into the car,” she said.
My heart started to pick up it’s pace and began to thump loudly in my ears. I quickly opened the car door, buckled my seat belt, and sat impatiently, waiting for my mother to speak.
“Mom. What’s wrong? Did something bad happen? Did someone pass away? Was it my cat? Was it Grandma?…” I continued to interrogate her. With every question, I could see the anxiety grow in her chest.
“No honey,” she paused and clutched the steering wheel tighter. She stared blankly out the windshield and started to sob.
“Your Daddy… your Daddy died last night. Your Uncle Terrence called this morning. They said…”
My world stopped. My head filled with thoughts and my body went numb. The world seemed to feel spacious and unreal. I screamed. I just screamed. I couldn’t help but deny what my mother was telling me. I denied every word and busted out into a helpless cry.
“You’re lying! Oh my God! Oh my God!” I cried until my head throbbed. My stomach twisted into an unbearable and most unforgettable pain.
It couldn’t be true. It just couldn‘t be. My father was dead. My dad. My Daddy was gone… forever.

Later that evening after most of the company had left, I asked my mother if I could see her cell phone. I flipped it open and scrolled down the list of calls.

Sunday, June 7, 2008. 9:10 p.m.