Free The Last Plea Bargain by Randy Singer

forehead. Tears rolled down his cheek as he closed his eyes and thanked God for giving us such a wonderful father. “I don’t know what I did to deserve a father like you,” he said to Dad after finishing the prayer. “And you deserve better than this.” He paused and swallowed hard. “Give Mom a hug for me when you see her.”
    All day long, I had been thinking about what I might say to my dad during these last few moments with him. But now it all seemed so pointless. The tears had welled up in my eyes as I listened to Chris, and now sorrow choked my words.
    I knew that the last words my dad had truly heard me say were the ones I’d said on the way out the door the morning of his second stroke. Because his first stroke had impacted his short-term memory, I had made a habit of writing things down so he could remember them. On the morning of his second stroke, I had reminded him to bring the trash can in after the city trucks came by. “Don’t forget to take Justice for a walk. I’ll probably be working late tonight, so don’t worry if I’m not home for dinner.”
    There was no hug. No I love you. My dad was already in his study, pretending to be hard at work.
    â€œSee you later,” I’d said. “Have a good day.”
    And now, as we stood at his bed one last time, it seemed futile to try to make up for that. I wiped the tears from my eyes with the back of my hand and looked at Chris. “I can’t say anything.”
    Chris nodded. “It’s okay. We’ll see him again one day. You can tell him everything then.”
    I leaned down and kissed my dad on the cheek, my fresh tears wetting his face. The nurses shaved him every day, but I could still feel the stubble from his beard. When I was little, he would wrestle with Chris and me and sometimes pin us down and tickle us or rub that stubble gently against our cheeks.
    The thought of it made my heart hurt. We hadn’t been a picture-perfect family, but we were doing our best until Antoine Marshall came along and blew it all away. I straightened and held my fist over my mouth, trying to hold it together. I sniffed and nodded at Chris.
    I don’t remember him going out to get Dr. Guptara, but I remember the doctor taking my spot next to the bed, scribbling on his chart, telling us that this was the best thing for my dad, and unhooking the life-support machines.
    When Dad passed, I was standing near the foot of his bed, watching the monitors. It was amazing to see how quickly and quietly my dad’s heart stopped beating. A wave of grief and guilt washed over me as the finality of it sank in—we had just taken away all hope of a miraculous recovery. My knees buckled, and the room started spinning.
    Chris came over and gave me a long hug. Neither of us spoke. Eventually I moved back to the bed and gave my dad one last kiss on the forehead.
    Numb, I filled out the paperwork and assured Chris and Amanda that I would be all right.
    I don’t remember the drive home. I felt dead myself, as if someone had taken over my body and forced me to go through the motions of life while I floated outside myself in a pool of grief and despair. At home, Justice sensed immediately that something was wrong and tried his best to console me. He found a toy and nudged it against my leg— Wanna play? When I refused, he lay down next to me, placing his head gently on my feet, occasionally glancing up at me to see if I was okay.
    After a few hours, I put on my dry-wick running clothes and took Justice on a long run. I worked the hills hard until it felt like my lungs might explode. The pain helped dull some of the sorrow. When I finally arrived home, exhausted to the core, I sat on the steps of the front porch for a long time, my head down and Justice lying next to me. I remembered the good times with my dad, and the tears began to flow again, forming a little puddle between my feet. This time, I did nothing