Walking into the hospital room, I saw my dad in a vulnerable state, no longer the strong man I knew. Despite the machines and his weakening condition, he greeted me with his usual warmth. We talked about light things, but I noticed the fear in his eyes—a rare vulnerability for him.
He confessed regrets, apologizing for not being the father he wanted to be. It was difficult to hear, but I reassured him that it was never too late to make amends. Yet, he felt his choices had already sealed his fate.
A nurse’s words about fixing things, even in small ways, stayed with me. Later, as his health declined, Dad passed away. In his final days, I realized strength is accepting what can’t be changed and finding peace with what we have.
