I just found out Susan Skelton died. Cancer. In the past few days I’ve seen several stories of young people, mothers, women my age dying. More and more I’m noticing signs telling me we did the right thing. I really liked Susie. I remember she made desserts at Swilly’s for a while, and I was jealous. We met at Moscow Parent-Toddler Coop. Her youngest Henry must be Jane’s age. Joy said that Francie ran into Duane, Susan’s husband, and he told her what happened. He said they didn’t seek treatment. I guess it was advanced. I don’t know.
I can’t imagine the conversations she had with people, her family, her kids, her husband. I had no groundbreaking emotional conversations with my dad. None. I had no idea what to say. I asked him if there was somewhere he wanted to go that year. He said he didn’t have a year. And that was it. I didn’t say anything more about it.
It wasn’t until he died that I thought of something to say to him. I wanted to tell him I was glad he was my dad. That was it. And I didn’t get a chance to say it.