Dad keeps hearing death at his door. Until recently, he has turned back toward life.
Now he is getting fed up.
With having risked his life for a country which, from the vantage point of the TV, is in shambles.
With the government.
With the rioting.
With being cut off from visitors in the senior care facility.
I visited him yesterday. Sitting outside his door with just the screen between us. He told me it may be the last time I saw him.
Dad, my stepdad, said he had something to say. He told me I had been like his own daughter to him. He had two daughters with my mother. He touched my heart.
I had something to share with him. He had saved me. From my mother, though through his rose-colored glasses he would have been unable to hear that, so I kept it to myself. I appreciate what a rich, full life he gave me.
He told me he was without fear of death. I asked what he thought was after death. He exclaimed, “I don’t have any idea!”
I called him today. “I’m still here. I had a better night last night.”
Every day is a new day.
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