My dad is back home and doing better. He’s not quite ready to run the Boston marathon but at least he’s home. This whole thing was a big dose of reality. Ever since I can remember I have always looked at my parents as above the typical cycle of life. I have honestly just expected that they would always be here. Their mortality was never questioned by me.
Dad being in the hospital was a major wake up call for me. I have not always had the best relationship with my dad, I’ve always loved him but not always been nice to him. I realized the other day though, after hanging up with my brother, that I have failed to let my dad know how I feel. I realized that if this situation had been more serious, I might never have gotten the chance to tell him.
Later that day, I called the hospital and talked to my dad, and I did something I should have done a long time ago.
I love you dad.
Nice. Don’s Dad is 94, and lives 3,000 miles away. Don calls him often, and never ends a conversation without that comment. It’s a good thing.
I was and still am ashamed that it has taken me this long to tell him.