The Date

 One week ago I was hanging out with my father, talking about my uncles and Franklin Park and Blue Hill Street. Remember when I blogged about that?

 When I left on Sunday evening, my dad wasn't looking good.  He hasn't looked "good" for awhile, but he looked in such a way that I wondered if his situation could possibly get any worse.

Come to find out, his situation did get worse. He can't talk now and is breathing weirdly and isn't eating.

May 11 is his 95th birthday and maybe he'll make it, but if  he doesn't, we'll just say he was 95 when he died because he was basically there, so let's cut him some slack. Come on. 6 days away.  

He could rebound in  his classic DAN HEFFERNAN style.  For the last few years, I've called him (to others) the man who does not die and I've seriously entertained the notion that he may be immortal. 

I remember my dad was sick one weekend when I was about ten or eleven.  He never missed work and was rarely ill.  He had a pad of paper in bed and was working away on something.  He worked a lot.  When I checked in on him in the afternoon, he told me, "I've written my epitaph." He showed me his notepad.

I'm not 100% sure I have this exactly correct, but it was something like, "He strode across the rambling world like a colossus." 

My mom was kind of amused but kind of not.  

Not sure what's going to happen with my Dad, but I'll keep you posted. Please keep him in your thoughts.