Had a Dad #2
December 13, 2011
300As he walked in the front door I greeted him at the top of the stairs.
“Thanks,” he said, as I handed over the card I bought him.
He didn’t need to open it to know what it was for.
Beaming, he said, “Now I can die a happy man.”
The brutal honesty that comes with acceptance is enough to paralyze most people.
Bowling was always his thing.
Three months into treatment and six months before the end, with Antimetabolites, Alkylating agents, Topoisomerase inhibitors and Anthracyclines pumping through his veins, my father bowled his first perfect game.
These miracles grace us in tiny, temporary doses. And I’ll never need another.
