I m stuck with this so I will continue. visted my father at the rehab, but he's in a private room: it is hospice care. by god, he flinched to see me, thinking I was about to roll him over for a cleaning. he said several times: I want to sleep. dad, I want that too. Beth and I were doing Boy Scout salutes with him, on leaving the rehab, which this time didn't work. he just looked at us. but I did an exagerated wave with my hand as I moved away, which he imitated. connect. thank you. I left the room ahead of Beth, eyes downward, passing a nurse, engulfed in tears. Beth spoke with the nurse, a latina, who said to Beth, he's in pain. she called my name, came over and gave me a long hug, telling me her brother died recently and what sounded like a prayer. I couldn't hear it all but the words were secondary. it was a surprising moment. we came home and shifted furniture back as it was, and removed all the tools for invalid, the hospital bed, walker, oxygen, etc. my father was more than those, and still is. we don't have to define people just by their limitations. he probably understood me least of all my brothers, as we were growing up, for I was and am so not the engineer that he was. yet the years allowed me to understand wherefrom he came and how, and he too gained an acceptance of my life. so a love we won, finally. I suppose this sounds sententious. I'm trying to see what it is I should carry with me, in the further on.