I went into the care home today and sat with dad. It is very hot in Glasgow at the moment so am all sticky and uncomfortable, but I sat on his bed and held his hand as I always do. He is still mobile but yet shaky and his mind his slowly defrosting but he always knows me.
We sat in the quiet, I smiled at him and he stared at me with the same blue eyes he gave me.
“Was I a good dad?” he asked.
Now after months in the care home and the surging emotions that has brought, I thought nothing could grab my throat and make me gulp. This did.
“Dad, you were not a good dad you were a brilliant dad” I said. He squeezed my hand.