EPISODE 30 THE SUBMISSION

Should I kick off the mortal coil, there is no point in you even trying to come back as, actually, I won’t be here and there certainly won’t be much craic in these quare times. —Dad

And so, at 4:00 am I Iay in bed in Los Angeles, my iPad on my chest, and watched as my brother carried my dad’s coffin into the funeral home in Limerick.

I had to be careful not to wake the three-month-old lying next to me.

Ten people max, six feet apart, masked up. This was his send-off.

Twenty fucking twenty-one.

No craic indeed.

And then Roux started crying. That makes two of us, baby.

His health had gone down rapidly. Or at least that’s what he had let on.

He never wanted me to worry. He didn’t tell me that the cancer had returned. Or that he had passed out in the doctor’s office. Or that he had become so swollen that his clothes had to be cut off of him.

After all, I was a new mother and had enough to be worrying about.

Every time he called me, I was short. Talking about how stressed I was. The lack of sleep I was getting.

I had nothing but time and the luxury of being at home with my beautiful healthy baby. Why the fuck was I acting like this?

Why did I become so self-centered that I neglected to call him back for three weeks? I’ll get around to it, I thought.

When I finally did, I was complaining about how tough I was finding it. How stressed out of my mind I was.

“Enjoy it, missy.” That’s all the advice he could give me.

I became mad at him for brushing me off like it could just be that easy. “I can’t enjoy it, Dad. I’m so stressed. I don’t have any help. She won’t sleep. I don’t know how I’m gonna go back to work.”

“It’s an adventure, missy. Enjoy the journey.”

Now I get it. I get that he was on his way out and he wanted me to enjoy this part of my life—every part of life, really. Especially that which was his favorite part of life—being a parent.

Richy was the good kid, the one who looked after him always. I could provide the money. Richy provided the things that were priceless. Care. Affection. Time.

Richy suggested that we do a FaceTime so that Dad could see his granddaughter. That was the last time I saw him.

He looked skinny and frail. His arm was in a sling. He said he fell. I knew things weren’t quite right, but not for a second did I think, I’ll never see my dad alive again.

I just chatted and played with Roux till the conversation had run its course and we hung up, not thinking anything of it until Richy said, “He’s not doing too well. Would you think of coming home?”

I got stressed again. There were two-week quarantine procedures. There were no direct flights and hardly any going into Ireland at all. How would I figure all of this out, and with a three-month-old and a fiancé who was on the road?

“How long do you think he has?”

“I don’t know. It could be six weeks.”

He didn’t even have six days.

I tried to talk to him every day after that. His voice becoming increasingly more fragile. His mind unable to comprehend the things I was saying. Not yet admitting he was exiting the world.

It was a Monday, four days later, when me and my dad had our last conversation.

“I’m on my way out, Becks.”

“I know, Dad,” I said as I broke down in tears.

I did weird things. I played nervously with a makeup brush.

I cradled a teddy he gave me.

I ran downstairs half-dressed, looking for Colby’s hand to hold.

I scrolled my phone looking for a way to record the phone call so that I could still have my dad’s voice to listen to.

All while he was talking.

“I’m sorry, Dad. I know I was trouble. I know I wasn’t a good daughter.”

“You were always a joy, Becks.”

How could he forgive me? He was dying and I hadn’t even returned his calls. He was dying and all I could talk about was myself.

He truly loved me unconditionally.

“I wish I could be there, Dad.”

“I should have been there when Roux was born.”

“But you couldn’t, Dad.”

“I know.”

“I love you, Dad.”

“I love you, Becks.”

Richy took the phone from him.

He lost his ability to talk the next day. The day after that he was gone. He never got to meet Roux. He would have adored her. He would have loved her uniqueness, how she knows exactly what she wants and will not be dissuaded. He might see expressions that remind him of me, but he’d know that she is an individual and he’d encourage her originality.

In the pain of loss and the crippling guilt I’ve felt since, I still write messages to his phone as if he’s here. Updating him on Roux. Telling him all of my worries that he’d never judge me for. It makes me feel like he’s not really gone. He’s just back in Ireland and I haven’t seen him in a while. Like he’s getting back at me for not returning his calls by not writing back.

It’s hard to know what to say when someone dies.

Always there with the wisdom of a sage, and knowing the perfect thing to say, The Rock, whom my dad always loved watching when he was wrestling and who had become a good friend and confidant to me in recent years, offered the most comforting perspective. In his signature voice, kind and compassionate, he gave me the greatest amount of comfort in one sentence.

“And now, he’s always with you.”

And now, he’s always with me.