I Had a Purpose

In the beginning, I could bring him back. It was only temporary, but it was possible. I could spark a memory. I could make him laugh. We talked for hours. I took him places. He still engaged. I could distract him from his dismal existence.

Eventually all I could accomplish was getting him to smile. I talked; he tried. I read to him. I fed him, washed his face, cleaned him up, and sat with him until he fell asleep in his chair.

In the end, I was just there. I'd like to think he took comfort from my presence, but that's only wishful thinking. He didn't know who the hell I was and he no longer smiled. My visits meant nothing to him; I couldn't alleviate his torment; he was anxious and angry. I went to see him less often when I undoubtedly should have gone to see him more. Maybe my visits weren't pointless. Maybe he was even worse when I wasn't there. I'm sorry, Dad.

Once upon a time I had a purpose. I eased his mind. Then I was utterly worthless. Then he died.

-The End.

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