The Devil Made Me Do It and Other Half Truths

Reading Time: 4 minutes

Dad lay in the hospital bed.

“Go home to your family,” he told me. “I don’t know how long it will take.”

Kissing him and telling him one more time that I loved him, (his response was always to thank me for saying those words), I drove the 400 miles to home, to my husband and child.

My mother and brother took Dad to the modest home we had all lived in for decades and for the next month he lay in his bed, wasting away, his dying taking longer than he expected. Towards the end he dreamed.

In a lucid moment, Dad told Mother and Neil of a particularly vivid one.
He dreamed he had started drinking again. He dreamed he had walked from his death bed, somewhere, haunting a familiar honky tonk, and drank. Perhaps he dreamed of Old Crow, straight from a half pint, for at his worst when he would drink for days, that was his drink of choice. So vivid this dream that as my mother lay next to his skeletal frame she whispered to him that it wasn’t so, doing her best