I opened the envelope addressed to me and took out the photograph of the gaunt looking elderly man taken at the hospital. This is not my father! They must have sent the wrong picture? I cried as I thought of how strong, handsome and alive he was the last time I saw him. This man’s face was ashen. His cheek bones were sunken in. Those eyes that were always brown and vibrant were now sad, with a far away look. His trademark smile, now replaced with false teeth looked wooden.
He was seated in a green chair, with a cane at his side, and an IV in his right arm. He was wearing the brown-striped robe I bought him for his birthday last year. The robe looked at least two sizes larger on him. He had lost nearly thirty five pounds! I could see the varicose veins on his ankles that appeared more prominent with the weight loss.
Family communications were not always easy. The only pleasant times were when we all attended church on Sundays. My sisters and I seated in the choir could see dad and mom in the church pew smiling proudly at us as we sang the anthem. All cares seemed to vanish from their faces. I will always cherish those memories.
Coughing and crying at the same time, I put the photograph back in the envelope. On my way to the kitchen sink I passed the hall mirror. Wiping a tear from my eyes I looked at my reflection and whispered, “I love you dad.” .
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