That Feeling When

I was sitting in the waiting area looking through photos of curly bob haircuts. My stylist, Bonnie, was finishing up a color job on another customer. A text comes in. From my sister. Our father has died, around noon central time. He was eighty-six. It's no surprise, his health has been in a downward spiral for the last couple of months. I feel little or nothing. The loss of my father happened years ago as far as I was concerned. In May it would have been twenty-seven years since I last saw him face to face. There will be no service. He will be cremated and one of his few remaining friends has been tasked with spreading Dad's ashes on golf courses. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Rest in peace, Carroll Bruce Broome. You were a lousy father. But it still makes me sad to think you died alone. No loving circle of friends and family gathered to ease your passing. You reap what you sow.