The End of Life Conversation With My Father

It began three years before he died

Photo by Mikhail Rakityanskiy on Unsplash

He was slouched over in his chair, his head tipped down as if in prayer, chin touching his chest, eyes shut. The book — a biography of Churchill — lay open face down on his lap. His frail and veined hands were folded on top with his glasses under the crook of one finger. From the doorway, I couldn’t tell if he was breathing or had…