A plea for the fifth

But why don't you stay until tomorrow?

My dad didn’t call me on New Year’s Eve. Whether it was your birthday or a holiday, he always celebrated you with a song. He had a beautiful voice and loved to sing.

When he was young, he sang on the streets of South Philly with his doo-wop group. I wish he had access to recording equipment, because I’d love to hear the sound of his voice right now.

As a kid, some of my favorite memories were from car rides. He’d sing along to his Hall and Oates and Chicago tapes. I’d sit in the back seat behind him and try to add in harmonies.

I was a terrible singer, but that didn’t stop me in these instances. I felt like I bonded with him during these moments. Although I was off key, we were on the same wavelength. I think he could hear me. I think he enjoyed it too.

I wish I had told him how much I loved this. There’s a lot I wish I told him before he passed away. I’m sure anyone who lost a loved one understands this feeling and knows the hollowness of the hole it left inside you. I’m sorry you’ve had to go through that.

I’m also sorry I wasn’t there for your last big birthday. My family through a party for him. I was pretty sick, but also a little mad at him. I do not remember why I was mad, but maybe I would have made more of an effort if I wasn’t. So selfish, so dumb.

I also missed my last opportunity to see you. You came to drop something off but weren’t feeling well enough to make it into our house. I was in the garage and said I’d be out in a minute. By the time I made it out, you had left. I should not have hesitated. I never really did before. Not sure why I let something get in the way this last time.

This week, the opportunities did not exist. You were gone before New Year’s and gone before the fifth, for what should have been your 77th birthday. No calls could be made; no songs could be sung.

It’s times like this that I really hope there is an afterlife. I hope you and mom are together again in the good place and are looking down on us. I hope you are there with your parents and all those who have passed.

I plead there is a multiverse where another version of me took advantage of the opportunities I missed. At a minimum, I plead there is an eternal return, so we can do it all again. I’d love nothing more than the chance to sing “Sara Smile” alongside you once again.