When Life Lost its Color

“Think about how Dada has loved you when he's sober,” my father texted. I read that message twice, three times, before it finally registered. His words were married to an ask: He wanted me to rebook him a flight from Honolulu to Omaha, where he had scheduled a detox appointment. Eight hours later, alcohol withdrawal claimed my father's life. He was 54. He never boarded that flight.