The Last Time I Saw Him

 The last time I saw him, I knew it would be the last time I saw him.
We hugged before I boarded the train. When I found my seat and looked out the window, he was just turning to walk back to his car. Usually, he'd stand beside the train until it pulled out of the station.
The last time I saw my father alive, he was walking into the sunset and the light was so bright as to cause him to vanish into it.

Less than a year later, I received a late night phone call from one of my brothers who told me that our father had been helping my aunt put up some kitchen cupboards over the course of the week. 

On the weekend, as he walked into her house, she excitedly told him that she'd put up a small unit all by herself.
When they entered the kitchen, he saw that the cupboard was up on the wall all right, but it was sitting at a cocky angle.
He laughed. She laughed.

They laughed and laughed and laughed.

Then he fell to the floor, still laughing.
He never got up. 

Auntie called an ambulance.
The paramedics tried to bring him back for 45 minutes.
He was gone.
He was 50 years old.

The final time that I saw his body, he was lying in the coffin, still smiling.
It wasn't til then that I cried.