When my father went into the hospital for the last time and realized he was never going to leave, the fear, resentment, and regret all came to the surface like his entire life flashing before his eyes in a bolt of lightning. I watched the clouds storm through the windows of his soul. And when the rains came and the guilt poured out, the apologetic words for past decisions echoed within those walls. It was only the third time I had seen him cry the first being the night my mom drove away and the second was when my grandmother passed away.

I expressed my sympathy and told him I understood. I reminded him to be thankful for the time we did have and to remember the good moments we shared. Even though, in that exact point in time, I was filled with anger and frustration knowing that the father I once idolized, and later grew to despise, he would never again be the man he was supposed to be at least not since her…

When my time comes, I don’t want to go out the way he did. I choose not to be the person he was not for myself, but for him. I want to guide him along the path I was never shown, to help him understand the importance of knowing himself, and to have confidence in his own choices and decisions rather than living by others’.

When my time comes, I want no regerts when it comes to him. The change begins with me giving him more than what I was given by him.