Dad

My Dad doesn't remember me anymore... and it hurts.

I just came back from a visit and very few people asked how I felt about my feelings about this.

But my dad who is now eighty one this month, had a good talk about how plants grow, which is where I get my green thumb. We talked about his neighbors too.

He remembers my Mom, which is pretty cool.

I brought up some old memories of his life in Hawaii, the Philippines, and the Kwajalein Island when he worked overseas in the sixties.

His eyes opened bright as he wondered how I knew of the things that he'd almost forgotten.

I love my dad so much...

And sometimes I wish that I would have spent more time with him over the past couple of years while he still remembered me.

As I look forward, I wonder if in thirty plus years I'll be like him? Faded memories with child like experiences of the present?

In so many ways, he's in a really good place. Because every moment is brand new and every experience is incredibly joyous.

Witnessing my father in this state right now is a double edged sword of joy and pain. But with love I embrace him and my possible future self.