It Snowed Today in Cincinnati - The Rev. Philip DeVaul

So I go back to the day he died. I was 26. He was 59. I had moved back to California recently. He was living in Maine now and was in California for a visit. Whenever he came back he would stay with my grandma – his ex-mother-in-law. She once said it took her so long to start loving him that she wasn’t going to stop just because of some divorce. My dad had been battling cancer. It was in remission, but his body was much worse for the wear, and he was actually sick when his plane touched down. Unusually for him, he needed a wheelchair to get off the plane. Shortly after getting to Grandma’s house, he got into bed, where he would mostly stay until he died three days later.  

I was sleeping in the room next door to his in order to keep an eye on things and take care of him to the degree he would let me. We argued because he wanted me to get him booze and I wouldn’t. He was an unrepentant alcoholic in denial going through withdrawals and I would not bring him vodka in bed because I was a tired, stubborn, idealistic adult child of an unrepentant alcoholic and I had no interest in enabling this ridiculous man I loved so much.  

The last night of his life he pretended to have an appetite and we sat next to each other in his bed and ate In-n-Out Burgers and watched boring British television – his favorite. 

 

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