My father is dying. He is 95 years old. He refuses food, a feeding tube, the morphine provided by the hospice care. He sleeps a lot. This is how lions and tigers die, when they are very old.
Sometimes he wakes up and speaks clearly. He asks me about my brother. They have not spoken in twenty years. They are both stubborn in their silence. Yet, this is the first question my father asks me every time I talk with him. How is your brother?
I am committed to unconditional love for all of my family members, no matter how they act. I want the last words they hear from me to be “I love you.” Since I don’t know when they or I will disappear from this particular reality, I tell them I love them frequently.