By Brendan Daly
I last saw my father on February 25th at his condo in Rhode Island. We had a wonderful day together—he showed off his new Subaru in a slightly harrowing ride, where he coasted through stop signs (aka the “Rhode Island slide”)—and I took my leave of him as he stood at the door waving while I drove away. When Dad didn’t make the 7:30 Monday morning Mass, his friends knew something was wrong, and I soon received a call at work that he had passed away at home.
I couldn’t process this news because I had just seen him. He looked healthy and was in good spirits. I inspected his bike to ensure it was safe for his planned rides with the “Old Spokes Club.” And he had just bought a new car. My father was the most frugal person I’ve ever known, and he would never have purchased a new car if he thought he might soon depart this world. He even left a plate of cooked spaghetti on the kitchen counter that he planned to eat for dinner–after attending to his last chore of taking out the trash. So none of us, including Dad, expected his sudden passing.