As we left the house, I knew he was not coming back. He was too sick and weak. This was the beginning of the final goodbye.
Before we left, I helped him shave. Trimmed his nails and eyebrows. Helped him put on a clean shirt and fresh socks.
In the hospital room, I told him I loved him, that I would be with him.
Days later, as I watched him take his final breaths, I held his hand tightly and said sweet things I should have said more often.