Two Long Months

Two months ago today I stood by my father's hospital bed and watched him pass away. I wept, I prayed, I held his hand.

The years were not kind to my father. He lived t age 59, but he took and emotional and physical beating that aged him quickly.

He left home at age 16 because of intense family turmoil, mainly with his father. The oldest of a dozen, his leaving home gave him some terrific guilt, leaving the rest of his siblings to deal with teh turmoil.

He married and fathered his first child (my older borther) at age 17.  

Bankruptsy before age 30 because of a failed business attempt.

Worked lowly jobs 60-80 hours a week just to keep out of poverty.

Fell two stories off a an unsafe scaffold at his janitorial job onto his neck at age 39. Partially disabled.

Hit by a drunk driver at age 48. Massive 3rd degree burns, some brain damage, and multiple complications.

Terrible infection at age 55. Lost ability to live independently.

Two months ago, it all caught up to him.  

Dad, thank you for hanging on for 59 years. I could have used a few more from you, but I am thankful for the years I got. I am eternally grateful we found a way to reconcile and see eye to eye when I got out of college. I love you.