Fantasizing about how I might die used to bring me comfort as a child. I used to believe that if I could make a list of every option, I wouldn’t be as scared. Having a list was like having a sense of closure. Dying in a nursing home with regrets was certainly on the list – number six if I recall correctly – however, it should have been number one on the list. Bernard was my best friend here in this facility. He was one of the few who didn’t drool in his morning oatmeal, or stare blankly out the windows, or sit hours ahead of meal times. His mind was sharp, he witty with a joke and very ambitious, even at seventy-eight years old. He was the kind of man who wouldn’t accept aging and death until he was stiff inside a coffin. Our friendship formed quickly. We shared stories of our youth and the lives we’d each had before coming here. He had been married twice, but never had any children. “Guess it just wasn’t in the cards for me,” he’d said. I was on my third cup of coffee out in the dining room when Bernard slapped the resort brochure down on the table in front of me. Sliding into the empty chair beside me, he smiled at me, expectantly. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a bundle of cash. Bernard’s eyes widened. “This doesn’t mean yes,” I interjected. “I’m still undecided.” “But last night you said it sounded like a great plan,” Bernard remarked. Picking up the brochure, he folded down more of its edges. It was true. While eating dinner together, I listened to Bernard explain the plan. He had the entire trip figured out, down to the last detail. We just needed the money – which was now sitting in front of us, thanks to my daughter. “I lied to my daughter to get this money,” I said, a pit forming in my stomach. “No. This is wrong. We’re being foolish.” Bernard waved me off. “Please. Your daughter has more money than she knows what to do with. She married one of the richest men in the county. I’ll bet she didn’t even bat an eye when you asked for this money.” It was true. She had simply dropped it off yesterday without so much as asking me a single question. But it didn’t mean that I had any right to be using it so foolishly. This trip was going to be costly. She could be using it for an investment instead, not using it on me. I remained silent. Glancing over at him, his expression had become disheartened. The excitement I’d seen in him moments earlier had evaporated. Without saying a word, he pushed himself from the table, grabbed his cane and left. Bernard’s words replayed in my mind all afternoon. The hours passed by in maddening silence. He didn’t knock at my door asking to play checkers, or ask to sit outside. He was furious. Having your best friend be angry with you is uncomfortable at any age, but its particularly uncomfortable when they could drop dead in the night, and you never got the chance to apologize. My loyalty was torn – I knew the value of a hard-earned dollar. I raised my daughter by myself, after her mother was taken too soon. I never let Kimberly go without, even if it meant that I worked two jobs. I never bought anything just for show. It had to be practical, and have a purpose. And it goes without saying, her needs were far more important than mine. Was I now a hypocrite now for wasting money on something as expensive and frivolous as a resort trip? And lying to Kim in order to get the money? What if she was lying about being able to afford it? Grabbing my phone from my nightstand, I called her. She picked up on the third ring. “Hi dad!” She sounded like she’d just been immersed a great novel. “Hi sweetheart,” I said. “What are you up to?” “Just reading,” she said. “Is everything okay?” Beside me on the nightstand sat a photo of us from when she was a little girl. Grabbing it, I stared at her. She had a beautiful smile, but in this photo, her smile never reached her eyes. “Do you have regrets about the way I raised you?” I asked, while continuing to stare at the photo. She was silent for a long time. “Yeah,” she finally said. “I do.” Her words hung between us, with neither of us knowing what to say next. “I’m mad that you always put me above yourself,” she said, her voice breaking. “I had to,” I whispered. “It’s what parents do for their children.” “But you worked endlessly, dad. I never realized that as a child, you weren’t just watching me grow up. I was watching you grow up too. I still am.” She was right. She was wise beyond her years. “Why didn’t you question me when I asked you for this extra money yesterday?” I asked. “Because,” she started. “Because my hope is that you’re finally starting to use that money on you. You don’t have to keep sacrificing for me anymore. Go live for you. You spent your whole life making me happy. You deserve happiness too, dad.” After we said our goodbyes, I grabbed my suitcase from my closet, filling it with everything one could possibly need for a resort getaway. I wasn’t sure how hurt Bernard was, but I owed it to our friendship to make it right. My knock on his door was met with silence from the other side. Opening his door, I found him sitting in his recliner staring out the window at the parking lot. When he turned, he stared at my suitcase behind me. “We only live once, right?” “Look out world!” Bernard called out, “We’re two old farts going out on one last trip!”