This time last year I was coming to grips with the fact that my beloved grandpas life was coming to an end.
For the last few days I have been facing the hard truth that my daddy is never going to be the daddy I grew up with.
As I sit in the hospital room with dad listening to him tell me the same story at least 10 times, help him get a drink, and whatever else he needs, I can't help but think growing up with this man as my father.
I won't paint a rosy picture of perfection. My dad was not perfect. Even now, with his addled mind, he will tell you that he had a drinking problem in his younger days.
But we knew he loved us. His way to show it was "stuff". And anyone who hurt his babies better beware.
He told me today that he was sorry. I asked for what. He said"I don't know. Everything." And then he told me the same story he told me 5 minutes earlier.