Happy?

Driving me to school, my dad with a Tootsie POP in his mouth; he looked emaciated at only ninety lbs while over six feet tall. Silence hung heavily in the old Toyota, smothering my intention to speak.

Staring at the bag of lollipops on his dashboard, the bright colors leapt out at me. The owl in my imagination imploring to know how many licks did it take to consume one.

We pulled up to the school and I then realized how happy (how NORMAL) the other middle schoolers looked arriving with their backpacks and smiles. They were nothing like me. And my dying dad who said "I love you" as I opened the car door to exit. I said nothing, frightened of what they might think of me and my dying dad. And our sad lives that suddenly contrasted so much with theirs. Slinking out of the old car, I wished I were invisible. How many licks does it take? How many awkward moments make up a lifetime?

That was the last time I saw him alive. Cancer consumed him shortly after. This is my happy moment. With all it's ugliness, shame, and sadness. It's happy because I saw him alive.