My father is not going to get better, and I am finally coming to grips with that. I regret the missed opportunities over those 16 years for holiday visits, birthday parties, or even just meeting for an FAC beer at the Morrison Inn, as we used to back in the 80s and early 90s. Hanging out, watching basketball on TV and just being in the room this weekend was a good thing for me, but I needed to get back to my kids and my family, so the visit wasn't any longer than the weekend.
On the ride to the airport on Sunday, my good friend and I talked about losing a parent. Rather, he talked and I listened, since he walked through that particular valley of hell a few years ago with his mother. He suggested I write a letter to Dad that he could read – and maybe re-read – until I can get back for my next visit. Maybe, just maybe, I can impart to him those things I am simply incapable of saying, using written words instead. What a great suggestion.
Looks like I have a letter to write.