My Father

Michael
Tonight has been difficult. My Dad isn’t doing well and I am worried that his health is failing to the point that my mom won’t be able to care for him much longer on her own. How could it possibly be that the man that I have known all my life to be nothing less than a giant of a man, has become an old man who now sees the world through faded green eyes that where once very close to the same color as yours.
My father, the strong handsome father who would carry his little girl on broad shoulders, my father who patiently taught me to dance while standing on his well planted feet. It is if I am still his little girl, who grew into the teenager who became his nemeses, and then transformed into the young bride who leaned on him for support while walking down the aisle to you.
It was yesterday the still young looking middle aged man held his first grandchild, which was followed by the next and the next and the next. It was just a brief moment ago that I saw this same man weep at the grave of his mother, and then his son, and then you.   The last few years of grief has aged him dramatically, the loss of those before their time has broken his spirit, and in some ways his will to live. I believe in some ways he feels guilty that he still walks this earth, while his daughter and daughter in law mourn the loss of the much younger men whom they loved most.
Tonight has been difficult. My Dad isn’t doing well and I am afraid that I must endure his loss alone. I am his only surviving biological child, I am the one who shares his features, I am the one who knows his story I am the one who will carry on his legacy. Our children, the ones to whom he loves the most, will more than likely suffer another loss, my mother will share the term widow with dear sweet Alice and with me. Please, dear sweet husband if he is to fade gently into the night, be the one to carry  him swiftly and sweetly home.
I love you
Me