I love my dad.
When Carl, Auntie Barb, and I arrived at Dad's bedside in the hospice center on September 18, I asked Dad how long he had. He said a week to ten days. Today is September 28 and Dad's still alive and kicking, as it were. Don't get me wrong: I am grateful for every extra day he is spending on this earth. I look forward to the moment, every lunch break, that I can see him while we visit on FaceTime. But let's face it: He's ready to go. He has his proverbial umbrella and stuffed animal packed for the journey. And I worry that more waiting might make him bored and depressed. I don't want him to suffer physically OR emotionally. But I don't want to let him go. I am chock full of paradoxes these days. My very existence is a contradiction in terms, except for one immutable, timeless fact: I love my dad.