My Nino passed Wednesday night. My dad texted me while I was somewhere else and I didn't see it initially. Got home, read it as wife was loading the laundry, and I could barely tell her what was wrong. Went out back and spit a lot of mocos, and dropped a bunch of tears. Wife called my dad and I wandered in at one point where she told him I was taking it hard. She had no true idea why, and I went back outside.
Because: He had been failing mentally, and it was painful to see such a vibrant and funny person lose it like that. A few month ago he fell getting out of bed, smashed the back of his head.
I never visited him in the hospital. When they moved him back home for hospice, I never went by to see him, I didn't even KNOW he got out of the hospital. I had almost asked my dad the last couple weeks how he was doing, where he was at, but I failed.
Now, I stuck with only memories, and never said goodbye, and really didn't support him with the gift of my time when he probably needed it most
