when he was alive i was not-waiting for my father to die, i fantasized a deathbed awakening, something revelatory to pass on. you know how it goes. if you get to love you don't have to wait or cogitate on things unsaid. 

i was just reading in memory of memory about a man who was dying and called the family as he had something critical to impart he'd held inside from long ago. by the time they arrived he lost consciousness and died. 

dad didn't do that, i'm glad, dad didn't do that.

he said i had a book in me, i think he wanted a book, there was something he thought he wanted to say, but he didn't have it in him.