[ WP ] Your first memory is of your dad promising that he will be there for you , then leaving never to be seen again . On your deathbed you realize he has been behind the scenes helping you your whole life .

My father left me when I was very young; I think my mother told me that I was about two or three years old at the time. I guess he promised that he'd always be there for me, watching over me. I chalked it up to him saying what she wanted to hear. 
 
 I suppose you could say that he was watching over me, during my childhood. Alimony payments kept the lights on; they kept the heater running, helped put food in me and my mother's mouth. I can thank him for that, I guess. But as soon as I moved into my own apartment, started going to school in the city, his help was gone. 
 
 I did n't need it anyways. I had a part-time job; it paid well, took care of the bills and left me with a little change to spare. I had friends over all the time, to bring excitement and warmth into my life. And I had Jake. 
 
 Jake was n't anything special. He was an old guy, one of the maintenance crew that came around every other day to check up on the tenants. I met him when he fixed my radiator. 
 
 I'd turned in my research paper to this magazine, a really esteemed publication. Jake was fiddling with his toolkit when I got the call. Rejected. I tried being polite as I could, in hopes that I could change their minds, but I could n't keep it up after the call ended. My first shot, maybe my only shot, a failure. 
 
 Jake was there for me. It was n't much, really. Just a few kind words, a pep talk to keep me from looking down, I guess. But it was enough for me. 
 
 When I broke up with my first boyfriend, Jake found me crying in the stairwell. He came in to work on his day off, to make up for the time he spent comforting me. When I applied for my first full time position, he came over every night for the week before to help me practice for the interview. When my best friend accused me of stealing her man from her, Jake gave me advice on how to reconcile with her. His advice made it possible for her to be the maid of honor at my wedding. 
 
 But as he approached sixty, his health slowly began to fail him. I visited the hospital every day, telling him stories of what the other maintenance men were up to, what was new in my life. I told him how I visited the rooftop of the apartment, to watch the sunset; how the railing that he put up fought the good fight against my broken heel. I asked if he wanted me to contact his family, have them swing by to visit. He said I was enough. 
 
 After he passed, I could n't bring myself to cry. He always wanted me to smile, to be happy. So instead, I laughed, consoling myself with an image of him up in heaven, fixing the pearly gates. 
 
 At bit after Jake died, my father had passed as well. I guess he remembered his promise, since he left everything to me. Money, again, but money is useful. It helped buy the house, helped put my son through college. He did n't do as much as Jake did for me, but I suppose he helped in his own way. 
 
 I'll meet him soon, up in heaven. Ask him where he was in my life, with a big smile on my face, just like how Jake told me.
