He finished vomiting what little there was in his stomach and collapsed into the back seat of the car. It was as if he felt he would die at any moment and had to get his final words out. I was near tears again.
I did my best to tell him that I knew that, that I loved him too. That he was more than a father to me than any of my stepfathers or my biological father had ever been. I tried to say these things loud enough, but I can't be sure he heard.
"I met your grandmother when she was 15 and I fell in love with her on the spot. She's a good woman you know, she's always been a good woman, generous..." He trailed off, trying to gather his strength to keep talking.
As the day went on I did manage to tell him a little bit, just some of the things I was thankful to him for, such as how I've admired and tried to emulate his relatively extroverted friendliness and his endless compassion and caring for strangers.
It was an emotional, difficult day. As with every time I've talked to him I learned a few more things about his life... Never enough time to truly know all that's he's done, all of his life story.
He's one of the good people in the world, always has been.
I wish he could be in it longer, at least if it weren't for all the pain and suffering he's going through now.
A long life, a good life, a relatively short coda.
May I be so lucky as to come close to his achievement in that regard.
