The Betrayal

My dad always told us that the moon was made of cheese.

He'd hand us delicious sharp cheddar with crackers and fresh apple slices, and with a glimmer in his eye, ask if we could taste the moon.

"Yes Dad!" we'd exclaim and he'd let out a hearty laugh and embrace us as we enjoyed the snack he had prepared for us.

Hahaha the moon was made of cheese.

Years later, much to my shock, I discovered that the moon was in fact made of very little if ANY cheese.

I had never felt so betrayed.

My father called me that day as I left my college astronomy class.

Rather than answer it, I methodically smashed and ate my phone.

I haven't spoken to him since.

My sister called me to tell me that my father was on his death bed and would pass soon.

He desperately wanted to speak to me, to mend whatever had come between us before he passed on.

Too late.

He died a long time ago for me.