He's still my dad

My dad is in the hospital still. I knew he was really sick, but I just couldn't make myself go visit him yet. I was really worn out last week and this past weekend. I talked to my roommate from DTS, Erin, on Saturday and she was in Nashville. I was eating dinner with her within hours. I needed a clearer head, or at least someone that would understand where I am coming from right now. Erin and I both are in the middle of possibly the hardest time in our respective lives and we just needed each other. It was cool to hang out with someone and not have to be anything I'm not. I have very few of those relationships and I cherish them. How many people can say that they have real friends? I am blessed with a few that love me. On the way back today, I stopped at my uncle's gravesite and made peace with God and-well-him. I was in that graveyard for like over an hour trying to find his marker. I finally found it and collapsed on the ground. I brushed all of the grass cuttings off of it and curled up next to his headstone on the grass. And I cried. And I made my peace. (It's a long story I don't feel like posting here right now.) But I felt the peace of God over me, so I knew I had to do it. I found my grandparents' markers too. I never knew either of them. They both died before I was born. I said hey anyway. And when I got back into the car, I knew it was time to go see my dad. So I did. He was all weak and hooked up to machines and... Sad. He has a feeding tube now, so he can't even have a last meal. Sucks. He was watching "FoodTV." My dad always loved cooking. He bought tons of cookbooks over the years. Even gave me a few when my mom was on the truck with him. Little did he know I only cook when a microwave is involved. I love my dad. Even after all the abuse, he's still my dad. I told him I would remember the good times. The fun things we did together. Not the bad memories. I told him to make peace with God and himself. He was too weak to lift his hand to put it in mine. He has internal bleeding and the docs can't find the source. He is six and a half feet tall and weighs around 85 pounds. He was moved to intensive care an hour or so ago, because he has gotten worse. I just pray he makes his peace first. That's all I want. I just don't want him to suffer anymore. Even after all the hell he put me through by choosing to drink and not fight the addiction, he's still my dad. And I have forgiven him. And I love him.