Fathers Day

This morning in the few minutes remaining before I wake up the house and start a day in which my three incredible daughters and my wonderful wife celebrate ... me? ..., I'm thinking about my Dad, who I visited yesterday.

He's almost 85, is recovering from melanoma surgery and radiation, has a new titantium hip, and is slipping further into the lost world of Alzheimers. There's a connection between the last two: The anaesthetics for the surgery, we knew, would speed the Alzheimers, but the choice was made: pain over brain. He's still pretty sharp, though, for an Alzheimers patient, recognizing me, being in the conversation some.

Behind him on the wall is a photo of him as a young Naval officer. You can't quite see the young man in the old man any more. Too much time has gone by, and too little time is left.

He wasn't my idealized dad. Gone too much, not engaged enough. And still I learned from him. As he slips away, I have just two concerns: That he professes his faith, and that he knows I love him.

Time to go upstairs and wake them up, praying that should I live to be 85, their emotions will be less troubled about their dad than mine are about my dad.