March 2026 Slice of Life, No. 24
In a couple days, in my heart, quietly, I will celebrate my dad’s birthday.
He has now been gone from us longer than he was with us.
The last day I was with him was my wedding day, the day he gave me to another man to have and to hold ’til death do us part. That was in June. He was sick. We all knew it. But we didn’t know how short his time would be.
On a hot, muggy June afternoon, Carl and I left our wedding reception. Family and friends gathered on the church lawn outside the reception room to send us off.
I felt my heart twist when my dad gave me a wordless bear hug and then a look of pride that was edged with a sad wistfulness. But I was so full of life. So full of dreams. So full of the future. His wordless hug and the deep feeling in his eyes quickly slid away from me.
We settled into my brother’s convertible, ready for the drive to O’Hare to catch a flight. In 24 hours, my new husband had to report back to duty; he had been given a 48 hour pass for our wedding — that was all you could hope for in a time of war.
I leaned out of the convertible and waved to my dad and mom… and others. They were all smiling and calling well wishes. Dad stood stalwart, handsome, arm around my mom’s shoulders. He smiled gently, and without a word, lifted his hand in a farewell gesture.
We pulled away from the curb and I turned to give one last wave goodbye.
I didn’t know I was waving a forever goodbye.
I didn’t know that moment would be my final memory.
I didn’t know that he was the one who would be leaving.
By mid-August I had signed a contract to teach. In a couple weeks I would attend new teacher orientation. That was when I received my brother’s call that Dad did not have much time left. I immediately began the trip home. The three hour drive to the airport. The five hour flight. The hour drive from my destination airport to my girlhood home. Before I could get there, Dad left us.
Though young, not yet fifty, Dad had finished his life race. And he had run it well.
He was a man of great faith.
He worshiped God wholeheartedly.
He read his Bible daily.
He believed in prayer.
He loved my mother.
He loved my brothers.
He kept his word.
He was always ready to help others.
He was always kind, fair, and strict.
And I, his only little girl, never doubted his love for me.
At the funeral home, with my four brothers, I stood beside my father’s casket and looked upon his form. In my heart, though broken with grief, I knew that he lived. That my forever farewell would not be forever.
during family vacation on a lake in Michigan
“For God so loved the world
that He gave his only begotten Son,
that whoever believes in Him
should not perish but have
everlasting life.” — John 3:16 NKJV
Thank you Two Writing Teachers
for hosting Slice of Life Tuesday Challenge
where Alice Nine teaches language lessons that
Empower Students to Read and Write
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What an emotional slice! I can’t imagine what it will be like to lose my dad, but I know a part of my heart will be missing. I’m glad you had your dad at your wedding, but I’m so sorry you didn’t make it home to say one last goodbye. Thank you for sharing your story with us.
You brought tears to my eyes. This is so beautifully written. I didn;t know I was waving a forever goodbye. That sentence is sitting on me heavily, so simply put and so powerful. And, you started a new teaching job right after that with barely enough time to recover from the enromity of it. I am glad he could give you away at your wedding. That was a lovely completion of a circle of love. Thank you for sharing this. It is the most poignant slice I have read all season. Thank you.
Thank you for sharing with me.
These stories of love, loss, and hope that we share remind us of many things we share in common even when the details are different. And we take comfort from each other and feel connected. This story is so poignant- I too can remember a last wave shared with my dad.
Thank you, Diane. we’re each unique but we’re really not that different as we think. Love, loss, hope comes to each of us.
Alice, wow. I was standing with you, my heart already broken open by your teaser quote on the TWT page. Thanks for slowing down time, for taking us back, and maybe helping a few of us hold on to the waves and hugs a little tighter, knowing how precious they are.
Thank you. Hugs are such gifts, an accumulating legacy to leave those we love.
This is so beautifully told. I could see your wave. The wordless hug is so powerful and the way you described that scene. The essence of your father and your relationship comes through so clearly. So touching.
Thank you, Heidi.
Oh Alice! What a tender story. You have told it so well – and made me so thankful that you know that your final farewell wave isn’t really forever. Beautiful in its honesty and truth. Thank you.
Thank you for sharing with me.
Love, pride, happiness, sadness…all encapsulated in a wave. We hope for more, but we never know when a good-bye will be a last one.
And the older I get, the more I am aware of that.
A beautiful recount. I’m so glad you felt your father’s love, and you will again. Bless you.
Thank you, Kim. Yes, love forever blesses the lives of the giver and the receiver.
What a sad slice. I’m so sorry you lost your dad when he was so young, when you were just starting your career. I can only imagine the grief you felt. I lost my dad when he was 88. It was sudden and swift. He was still very much with us before he wasn’t. I’ve been listening to Anderson Cooper’s podcast, All There Is. It is amazing and speaks to all of the different kinds of losses. If you haven’t listened, I highly recommend it. Our grief never leaves us. It shows us that there is love.
Thank you, Margaret. Yes, the deeper our love, the deeper our grief.
I’m so glad you captured this last wave in a story. So sorry for your loss, gone too soon. In the beginning, your line – He has now been gone from us longer than he was with us.- had me pause and do a little math. I also lost my dad on my 25th birthday. Now I am 62. So I could write that same line. Thanks for sharing and for giving me a little time with memories of my own dad this morning.
Thank you, Sally. Time is a strange thing. How it keeps moving on and yet stands still over parts of our lives.
Oof, what a bittersweet slice- so full of love, yet I also feel your sadness still. Grief is never forgotten.
Thank you, Erika. Sadness… because we didn’t get to share my adult years. Because my children never got to know him. But thankful we had the good years of my growing up.
You write so beautifully about the last goodbye. This goes straight to the heart.
Thank you, Terje. I wonder how something so ordinary as a wave goodbye can be embedded in our memory. How many waves goodbye have I forgotten? But this one I remember.