My Father's Death

On Tuesday morning Sept. 6 my father died of heart failure. He was 88 years old and had had dementia for several years. We were not close. When I was a child, he did not visit me or remember my birthday or call me. He did not do these things when I was an adult either, though I visited him occasionally over the years. During my teens, there were a few sporadic attempts to establish a relationship and I can't say they were completely unsuccessful. In spite of all this, I believe that he loved me. And I loved him, too. I cried when my brother called to say that he was dead. I had lost my daddy, and it broke my heart.
Three years ago I saw him was at the beach condo where he lived with his beloved wife. They had been together for around 30 years. I was with my daughter and he had to be reminded a couple of times who we were. A clock that said the time in a woman's voice seemed to comfort him. He was still great at spelling! As we were leaving, he said, "Love you." Surprised, I said, "We love you, too."
That was the last time I saw him and I'm glad that's my last memory of him.