My father’s last text message was just a thumbs-up

Dear Delyara, My father’s last text to me is a thumbs-up emoji. I had messaged him: “Doctor tomorrow at 10. Don’t forget.” He replied 👍. He died overnight. I keep wishing I had written something worth answering. Love you. Call me. Are you scared? Instead, I gave him an appointment reminder and he gave me a thumb. Dad hated texting. Every message was “OK,” “YES,” or an emoji he often used incorrectly. Once he sent me a crying face because he thought it meant laughing. Everyone finds the thumbs-up strangely comforting. “That’s so him,” my brother says. It is. That is what makes me angry. I wanted death to reveal a hidden eloquence in us. Instead, our final exchange looks exactly like hundreds of ordinary exchanges before it. I have taken screenshots in case the phone breaks. A tiny yellow hand is now precious because it is the final movement my father intentionally sent toward me. Sometimes I open the message and type something underneath, even though his number has been disconnected. Tonight I wrote, “I remembered the appointment.” Then I deleted it before sending. I do not know whom I am trying to reassure.