In the hospital, it had been bearable. Knowing that eventually, dad would sleep that restful, only-happens-one-time-ever sleep. But he got better. He came home. He made his recovery. And two years later, he’s back in the hospital. Creeping closer and closer to that edge.

So, now it’s in both lungs, they tell us. Nothing to do. Can’t be helped. Just make him comfortable. Seriously? How?!? He has things growing in his lungs!

But he’s 75 now. And still alive. So, go screw yourselves, doctors! You gave up to quickly.

Now he’s living on the edge, knowing that he could fall over it at any time. And he doesn’t care.

He’s my hero.