As humans, we all suffer at one time or another. It's the natural course of life. But kids shouldn't have to see their parents suffer. It causes too much pain!

My dad, my sister (to be referred to as Genevieve) and my nephew (to be referred to as Brendan) arrived safely yesterday late morning. When I picked them up at the airport, Genevieve and my dad seemed chipper enough, despite many hours of traveling. Brendan looked tired and acted shy.

I drove them to my house, stopping along the way for a quick lunch. When we arrived at my house I gave them a tour and got them settled. It didn't take my dad long to need a smoke. I made sure he understood that there will be no smoking in the house. I put some dirt and rocks in one of my empty flower pots and asked him to use it as an ashtray. I didn't want cigarette butts littered all over my yard. He complied without protest.

We all sat outside and chatted for a bit, while Brendan played and Snuggle Bug napped. After a while, Genevieve and I left to go pick up the wheel chair that I was borrowing from a church. I was happy when it folded neatly into my trunk. I guess I was expecting a big bulky one, the kind that are used in hospitals. This one is lightweight and compact. Nice!

When we got back, we hung out at the house for a bit longer and watched Snuggle Bug and Brendan play nicely together. My dad seemed to really enjoy watching the kids and interacted with them as much as he could.

My sister decided that our guest room was big enough to accommodate my dad, Genevieve, and Brendan, so I set up the queen sized mattress and the pack-n-play in the spare room. Then we went to our local pizza joint for dinner. It's a few blocks from our house so we walked...well, we walked and pushed my dad in the wheelchair and he took his crutches with him. He seemed to be getting around quite well with his prosthetic leg.

It was while eating pizza that I noticed large purple bruises all over my dad's right arm. When I inquired about them, I learned that he'd fallen at Genevieve's house the night before they left for the airport and since he's on blood thinners bruises show up quickly. They looked nasty!

After dinner, we went home and put the little boys to bed. Both went down without too much fuss. Genevieve wanted to watch a TV show, Oronzo went into the office to continue working on his big project, and my dad went out to have a smoke. I decided to follow him out there to see if he was in the mood to talk.

I was surprised at how much he opened up to me when I asked a few probing questions. I learned quite a bit, most of it rather sad.

I learned that my dad was nervous about this trip. When I asked why he replied, "It's fear of the unknown. I didn't know if I could get myself packed and drive the three hours to Genevieve's house the night before our flight. In the airport I was afraid that I'd delay Genevieve and Brendan during the security checkpoint and make them miss their flight."

"You made it through all of that. You must feel pretty proud of your accomplishments, right?"

"I guess," he replied unconvincingly.

I asked my dad how long he could wear his prosthetic leg before it hurt him and he told me it varied. He admitted that he was hurting a bit at that moment, having worn the prosthetic since 5 a.m. that morning.

"Dad, you can take your leg off and keep it off around the house. We don't mind."

"I'm feeling a bit embarrassed around Oronzo," my dad confessed.

"I understand why you might feel that way, since you don't see him usually but once or twice a year, but please know that Oronzo is a compassionate man and only wants to help. He isn't at all uncomfortable with your prosthetic or lack there of." I'm sure I didn't convince him to see Oronzo in a different light but I didn't know how to do that. I guess it will take time for my dad to work through his feelings of embarrassment and feel more comfortable around my husband.

"Dad, how are you doing in your new apartment? Are you getting by okay?" I probed.

"I'm doing just fine," he sounded as if he was trying to convince himself as well as me. He eventually admitted, "I do feel a bit lonely at times, maybe even somewhat isolated. I may move closer to one of you kids at some point."

I assured my dad that if he chose to move to our state, I'd help him in any way that I could and that I'd love Snuggle Bug to have the opportunity to get to know his grandfather better. I seriously doubt he'd move this far from home, but who knows.

After a bit of silence, my dad surprised me by saying, "Sometimes I have a tendency to feel sorry for myself and I indulge in pity parties."

I didn't know what to say to that so I simply said, "We all do that sometimes." I encouraged him to call me whenever he was feeling down and told him I'd gladly listen. I was amazed that he was sharing as much as he was with me. He's usually not so expressive.

We chatted a bit more and I stressed to him how happy it made me to see him playing with Snuggle Bug. I told him that I regretted my grandfathers passing away before I had a chance to know them.

Then he said the oddest thing, "Unfortunately, I don't expect to live past another five years."

I was floored! Was he feeling so depressed that he was suicidal?

"Are you thinking of doing something crazy, Dad?"

"No. No, not that. I just know that the circulation in my right leg isn't good and there could come a point where the doctors will tell me either I get the other leg amputated or I die. I would choose to die. Loosing my left leg has been too hard. I can't go through that again."

"Do you regret pulling through your strokes last year?" I asked.

"No. I like to think there's a reason that I pulled through, that maybe I have a purpose. I just don't know what it is," he explained.

He went on to explain that he still has a heart condition and that being on blood thinners would eventually take its toll on his body. He just wasn't optimistic that he'd live much longer.

In this bizarre twist of the conversation, we went on to talk about what he wanted for his funeral.

"I want to be cremated and I want an Irish wake. I want everyone to have a good time and I don't want anyone going home sober," he insisted. "I've already made this clear to your older sister and now I'm telling you."

"Okay Dad, whatever you say. I'll make sure it happens that way. But you'd better be around for longer than five years because Snuggle Bug needs to know his grandfather."

"We'll see," was all he would say.

During the course of the hour long conversation, I watched in horrified amazement as my dad smoked at least four cigarettes, one after the other. Is he trying to kill himself by all his smoking? His doctors have told him how harmful smoking is to him, especially now. They strongly encouraged him to quit when he got out of the hospital, but after about two months he started back up again. I know cigarettes are powerfully addicting but after his near-death experience I was hoping he'd be motivated to quit. Apparently not.

The talk with my dad, although a bit strange and sad, was nice. I felt like we connected more than we have in a long time. He went in to bed and I eventually headed to bed myself.

At 2:30 a.m. I heard my dad hobbling to the bathroom with his crutches. He made it in okay but when he came out, he either lost his balance or there wasn't enough light to show him the way and I heard a loud crash! I leapt out of bed and rushed out into the hallway.

"Are you okay, dad?!"

"I'm fine," he said impatiently.

I could see that he was upright on his crutches again so I headed back to my room to give him privacy. Damned if he didn't fall again, once he was in the bedroom! This time Genevieve asked if he was okay, although she was careful not to offer help unless he asked for it. He didn't ask for it. He made his way back to his bed in silence.

I tried to go back to sleep, but my mind was racing and I just wanted to have a good cry. I hate seeing my proud father in so much physical and mental anguish! I feel helpless. He doesn't want our help. He doesn't want his kids to see his perceived weakness. He's a very proud man. I'm terrified that he'll fall and split his head open on our tile floors. I'm mortified for him because I know how embarrassing this all is to him. I wish I could take this pain away from him. I'm angry that he has to go through this and that we have to witness it and there's not a damned thing I can do to make it better. Trying to help only makes him feel worse.

I wish my dad could adjust and maintain more of his activeness. He told me himself that as a 61 year old man, he just doesn't have it in him to recover in that way. He misses tinkering under cars, being a part of the local rescue squad, and doing home improvement projects. I wish he didn't feel so resigned to a short life expectancy and a life filled with loneliness. I wish he'd let us help! Since his hospitialization, I try to put myself out there, from long distance, with phone calls and letters and I get little response back, although last night he told me that the phone calls are nice.

How do I deal with this? I've always known that one day my parents would get old and their health would fail. I knew it'd be hardest for my dad. I didn't expect this to happen so soon and I'm unprepared.

I feel like I have to accept that my dad has given up on life and I have to scramble to learn as much about him before he dies, so that I can pass that information on to Snuggle Bug. I don't know my father all that well and, up until now, it's felt safer that way. By keeping my emotional and physical distance, I've prevented him from having the power to hurt me with unkind words or actions.

I think we're going to loose him soon and I'm regretting that I've never really understood him, that we never understood each other. This pains me deeply. Perhaps his trip here has given me the chance for quiet time with him and the opportunity to try to express to him that, despite our past struggles, I do love him and when it’s his time to depart this earth he will be missed.