I Wanted to Watch Him Take His Last Breath—But She Said No
My stepmother and I never got along, but not allowing me to be by dad’s side while he was dying crossed a line. I've regretted not standing up to her ever since.
Last week, over at Narratively Academy, we hosted a live video chat between two literary legends, Lee Gutkind and Dinty W. Moore, breaking down what (the heck) a flash essay is (check it out here if you missed it). Following the insightful and inspiring talk, we ran a special flash essay contest with the assignment to write about a moment you regret. We got so many great submissions that, as always, it was hard to choose a winner. But one, from writer Jen Shepherd, really stood out, and we’re pleased to share that piece with you today. We hope you love it as much as we do!
“Now that he’s become unresponsive, it won’t be long. Maybe 24 hours,” the hospice nurse explained. I expected to be by his side when he died. We’d spent our entire lives knowing each other. He was there when I was 16 after the head-on collision resulted in that nasty concussion. I was there for him after he burned both hands making homemade fudge, his favorite Christmas tradition. When I had chicken pox, didn’t make the volleyball team, and had my heart broken more than once, it was his shoulder I cried on. When he had no one else to lean on, the world went dark and he turned to the bottle or the drugs, it was my turn to listen.
My first marriage was a fail. His second marriage was a fail, although none of us would say it out loud. My relationship with my father was unique. Our closeness had always been envied by my friends, by most people really. It was not, however, envied by Wife Number Two. I sensed she disliked me from the start, that she was jealous. But this was never discussed in our family, though it was always the elephant in the room. The poor man was stuck in the middle, forever navigating the icy waters between the two of us. “Why can’t everyone just love each other?” he’d ask. But I couldn’t love someone who pulled him away from me. Who went out of her way to keep him all to herself like a special secret.
I wanted to stay at the house. I wanted to sleep on the couch, on a chair, on the floor, in my car. As long as I could be there. Holding his hand. Watching him take that last precious breath of life. But she said no. And I didn’t argue. I didn’t stand up for myself. I let her call the shots. I was weak. Scared. She scared me with her large stature, head of frizzy gray hair and those dark brown eyes forever boring into mine. “No,” she said. So I kissed him goodbye and walked out the front door. In the driveway, I glanced up at his bedroom window, glowing yellow from a single pale bulb. I knew in my heart I was making a mistake. I should have stomped right up those concrete stairs, threw open that damn door and announced without hesitation, “I’m back and I’m staying. And I don’t give a damn what you think.”
But I missed it. He died the next morning, just as the pink-tangerine sun streaked across the bay. I was walking the dogs along the shore. It was 7 a.m. I knew the moment it happened. I felt the energy surge from my feet through my head like a weird out-of-body experience. I should have been there.
I should have been there.
But I wasn’t.
Jen Shepherd is a lifelong photographer and writer. Her work has appeared in The Rumpus and Autism Parenting Magazine. She was shortlisted for Fractured Lit’s 2025 Anthology Prize and was awarded sixth place in the 2024 Writer’s Digest Personal Essay Awards. Jen and her husband live along the rocky shores of RI, where she’s convinced the coffee always tastes better.
My stepmother kept me from my dad’s side when he died, but I have a sweet video of him singing to me the day before he died.
I’m so sorry. This could have been me, but my stepmother predeceased my dad, though he was decades older. I feared this exact scene and I’m so sorry you had to live it. But, of course you left. Surely you didn’t want to risk the peace your father needed. Like a kind of Antigone, you sacrificed yourself because you loved him. She was selfish and small to the end.