I buried my dad last month.
I knew it was coming. I'm not stupid. I've known it was coming for ages. Nobody who's in that bad a way can last very long.
I still hoped, though.
I kind of wanted another year. I know that's selfish, I do--my dad was suffering so much, you know? He couldn't even talk anymore. He couldn't be himself.
But I wasn't ready to say goodbye.
I just wanted more time to hug him and love on him. I never go to do that enough. We were always running around, trying to make sure the next thing got done and everything was in the right place, and his awake times kept getting shorter and shorter...
Is it weird if I wanted to change his diaper one more time?
I guess I don't care, when it comes down to it. Doing something that "base" for someone is an incredible act of love, regardless of its necessity.
He said goodbye to me, you know. I was sort of going in little circles in the hospital hallway when I felt him wander by. I ran back to the spot where I felt him and said some