The time was January 1982. I am 19 years old. My father is 52 and sick with cancer. His entire body is on fire with cancer. He has only a few weeks to live.
He takes small walks outside, maybe 100 yards out and back. It is all the energy he can manage for one day. Just to get out of bed and walk is excruciating.
I am washing my car outside the house…my beloved car. I watch him painfully struggle for each tender step. His futile fight to stay alive impresses me. I wonder what he thinks about. He walks alone. I wash my car.
I am 56 years old now and this moment, an opportunity lost, still haunts me. That I didn’t walk with him. That I didn’t comfort him. That I didn’t share precious last moments with him.
I love you dad.