As I looked in the mirror, I saw myself, and my father looking back at me. We had a short conversation.
I said, “I’m getting old dad.” In a tired voice.
In a somber tone he told me, “I know son. Soon you’ll die too.”
“I don’t want to die dad.”
He said, “It isn’t being dead that hurts, it is the dying.”
Our eyes became teared as we remembered his death.
“I watched you dying. I miss you. I’m so tired. I don’t have anything left to give.” My voice trailed off.
“Be strong son. You still have people who count on you.”
“I was not ready for you to leave.”
“You were, and you know it. My body was worn out long before I died. I held on as long as I could.”
“I know dad. You were always so strong. I hope I can do what is required of me, and make you proud.”
“I’ve always been proud of you. You’ll do what is needed.”
“I see the same decay in my vitality that I watched you succumb to.”
“Death comes for us all son. Don’t be afraid. Look straight ahead. Look into it. Don’t swerve to the left or the right, but walk on through it. We are here waiting.”
This is my Dad, Bob Sr.
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