“Sweetness,” he said, his voice thin. His eyes welled up. “I know better than you do how sick he is. I know he’s never going to get better.” He sounded insulted, as if I shouldn’t have forced him through the indignity of saying it out loud. “Then why do you persist in this?” I asked. “Why can’t you save yourself a little bit, for me? Save your strength, Dad. Just let him go. I need you here. I need you to get well.” He looked at me so sadly, and I knew he was disappointed in me for failing to understand. All the years I’d been his kid, he’d poured his heart into me and he still hadn’t been
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