Potato Juice🧃

My sister asked me to "just visit" our dying father. I asked if he'd read my wedding invitation first. He did. He returned it, unopened, with a sticky note: Not attending. Wish you well. That was 14 years ago. He'd left when I was 15, and I'd spent a year sleeping on my cousin's couch because Mom wasn't coping. He taught me to drive, then taught me what it felt like to be forgotten by someone who knew my shoe size. My sister Hana, 36, still talks to him. She's the "peacemaker." She texted me a hospice address and wrote: "He has weeks. Don't be like this." I replied: "Like what? Consistent?" She sent a crying emoji, then a voice message. I didn't listen to it. I know I should have. My boyfriend, Ken, said, "Maybe go for closure?" I said, "I don't need closure. I need him to have been a father." Ken went to the other room. I heard him take a long breath through the door.