having to write this. my father died saturday afternoon. Beth and I visited him about an hour before. he'd made a marked decline since the day before. he was aware but couldn't speak. a nurse (named Angel!) was shaving him. it occurred to me that it wasn't his electric razor. she said, oh that one's too loud, this one is mine. she finished and kissed his forehead. this is the same nurse, I mean aide, who hugged me. in fact I teared up and she hugged me again. we held his hand and talked to him. his breathing was terribly laboured. after a while, Beth left me to be alone with him. I said what I could, assuring him that his family was okay, that I loved him. thanking. all this stuff. I started to cry and he shook his head. a couple of times there were pauses in his breathing such as made me think he was dying. I might've stayed with him, but I remember that it seemed like my mother waited till she was alone to die. we went home and I called my brothers, telling them if they wanted to say goodbye they should do it soon. we had an end of winter party planned, something Erin wanted badly. he has been suffering in his teenage way, way inside. we went shopping for the party. soon after we came back, my brother called to say dad died. they were ready to give him morphine if he started to suffer but luckily that didn't happen. he died just before two of my brothers arrived. I don't know why I write of this here, except that it is part of whatever. and I couldn't do so sooner because my computer broke. it is still broke, but I managed to get to the library today, and with time. we cancelled the party, sent Erin off to some friends. Beth's cousin called and she invited him over. we talked Red Sox and West Virginia. of course my father's death wasn't a surprise. in caring for him, in growing up to that extent, I gained a lot. I am a little cut adrift now. yesterday a neighbour from across the street stopped by. Beth had told her recently that my father was failing. it was kind of shocking, telling her that he died. later she came back with a pot of tulips, and Beth and I talked with her. well I guess I am going too far. this is just like your story, only all the details are different. I'm calling it my story, but that in itself is a story.