Sometimes you know when it’s the last time. You walk through an apartment before turning in the keys. You wave to a teacher before going to pick up a graduation gown. You empty a desk before walking out the office door. There are those moments when you might say, “This is it. I will not be here again.”

And maybe you’re sad or maybe your thrilled, but possibly you do something to mark the occasion–give a hug, eat a slice of cake, whisper goodbye to a room. (I have always made a point of saying goodbye to a room.)

But of course often you have no idea that a moment is the last moment.

The last time I saw my dad in person was in March of 2025. It was a Monday. And that morning I’d gotten the call that Dad had successfully moved from the skilled nursing facility to the assisted living facility. On the phone Dad told me, “This place is beautiful. I didn’t think I could live in such a beautiful place.”

I can’t express how relieved I was. I told my co-workers. I texted my husband and son. I told my dad I’d see him after I finished classes. He liked the place! This was going to work!

So after classes, I picked up my husband and we headed to the assisted living facility. It was dinner time, and dad was in the cafeteria. I’d hoped to walk in and see Dad sitting with other folks his age, making friends, getting used to the place.

But no. Instead, Dad was sitting with the former step grandson and the grandson’s girlfriend. They weren’t sitting with other residents.

I won’t bother with the whole of the conversation. It was awkward and tense. Unpleasant. The step grandson and his girlfriend ran down the food and the rooms. It wasn’t good enough. Florida was better. I didn’t want to argue too loudly. It was dad’s first night in the facility, after all. What if the residents just thought this new guy was bringing the drama? What kind of first impression was that?

But after some back-and-forth, Dad and the step grandson agreed that Dad would give the place a month. It was nearly the end of the March, so at the end of April, if Dad really didn’t like the facility, he’d go back to Florida. Assured I had a month to make sure Dad had a great experience, I gave Dad a hug. “See you tomorrow,” I said. “Love you.”

“Love you too, Marta.”

And so I left, unhappy the step grandson and the girlfriend were there, but relieved they’d agreed to a month. It was a good place. Space to walk. Bright, clean rooms. Friendly staff who’d worked there for years. More amenities than we could’ve hoped for.

But Dad didn’t even spend one night there. After dinner, he went to a hotel with the step grandson, broke the lease, and was on a plane back to Florida that Wednesday.

If I had known when I walked out of that cafeteria that I’d never see my dad in person again, maybe I’d have said very different things. Maybe I’d have caused a scene. Maybe I’d have given him a bigger hug.

That Tuesday, the day between Dad’s promise to stay and Dad’s boarding a plane, I received a text telling me their plans. And that was that. A time had ended and it was not coming back.

---

Support my art and writing at Patreon or buy me a coffee. Subscribe to Paper Octopus.
Thanks for reading.

---