Today, the man who was my father passed away. During his illness I had a chance to talk to him like a son. I never mentioned or asked why he wasn’t my dad. It didn’t matter so much anymore. What mattered was that he was dying and I was presented with a chance to talk to him. In death, more was accomplished than in life.
I wished my father could have met my lovely family. Wished he could have seen his three grand-kids and how special they are. I am sure he would have been proud. I wished we could have had just one day to sit and talk about stuff. Just stuff.
My father is at rest now and in a way, so am I. I am planning to travel to England to attend his funeral and pay my last respect to the man who was my father but couldn’t be my dad.
RIP Old Fella!