The last few weeks I have been feeling guilty. Guilty for not visiting my dad more, guilty for not asking him if he was afraid or what I could do for him. Most of all, I feel guilty for avoiding the subject of his impending death. I was too afraid and uncomfortable to talk with him, leaving him alone in this process. I am guilty of this and it brings me grief. If I had a do-over, then I would be brave and face death as a part of life, and I would be there for him.
I miss him and lament the life he has already missed~the birth of Augustus, his granddaughter driving, and us moving into our farm house. The very move that he said would happen.
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