I visited every few weeks. We’d have dinner, watch baseball, and argue over things that didn’t really matter. When the conversations became serious, we usually managed to understand each other before the evening ended. Dad wasn’t someone who spoke openly about emotions, but he was always there when it counted, and that mattered more to me than words.
I also had two half-siblings from one of Dad’s later relationships. He never married their mother, Karen, but they remained close for years. Derek was twenty-eight, working for a logistics company in Columbus. Amber was twenty-six, finishing graduate school in education while sharing a house with roommates.
We got along well enough. We hadn’t grown up together, so we were never especially close, but we were friendly whenever family gatherings brought us together. As Dad’s health declined, we spent more time together in hospital waiting rooms, each loving him in our own way.
