I’ve been spending the first month of the year watching my father die. He’s slipping away, slowly, bit by bit, the life dripping out of him.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Mostly I sit and watch TV with him–Wheel of Fortune, televangelists, rodeos. He’s too weak and tired to talk much now, but even before we didn’t say much. And what is there to say to each other at this late date?

My sister, my dad, and me

My sister, my dad, and me

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