There is a reason I always end evening conversations with family members with the phrase, “Love You. Goodnight!”
July 28, 1961, was a busy day for Mother, Jean, and myself. After we finished supper at 1529 McKay Street, we went to the Laundromat to give a weekly pile of family clothes a well-deserved washing followed by tumble around fluffing in the dryer.
It was late when we finished folding and hauling the baskets of clothes to the back porch. I slid behind the wheel of the 1957 Ford Fairlane 500 and started backing down the drive. For a moment, as I reached the bottom of the drive, it crossed my mind that in all the flurry of activity, I had not gone back inside the house to say goodnight to my Father but then I thought, “I will see him tomorrow.”
Our tomorrow was brushed aside by his sudden heart attack. On some days I am thankful I did not say goodbye to him. I can remain in a world where we have never parted. On others, I have learned a lesson and make sure family members hear my farewell. Both worlds serve me well when I drive on McKay Street or remember that I have.