I’d flown in to see Dad, possibly for the last time.
“Charlie, it’s bad,” my sister warned me. “He doesn’t remember much.”
She sat on one end of Dad’s bed while I sat in the only chair. I asked Dad how he was doing.
“Fine,” he replied.
“They taking good care of you?”
My sister piped up, “Seen Charlie lately, Dad?”
“No, I don’t think I have,” he replied slowly.
She grinned at me, the little shit. “Dad, did you have any kids?”
“Well, there was Charlie and Frank, and I think there was another one.”
My turn to grin.