Day 2...

He is sleeping like a corpse. I watch his chest move to make sure he isn't. My dad...the man who gave me life is now fighting for his.

Given up for adoption shortly after birth. Literally shoved into a hot oven by his oh-so-loving foster parent at the ripe age of three months. He must have deserved it somehow.

Could not talk, could not walk right. This man took speech lessons or whatever the hell they called it then. He learned to talk somewhat. And for his 17th birthday his loving parents showed him the door.

So he joined the Navy. And met my mom somewhere along the way. The rest is writing this.

(I was angry when I wrote this)

Later...

The toilet off the back bedroom they prepared for me leaks. The water supply into the tank never stops. And the overflow runs into the bowl. It's like a slow continuous flush. It's like God's grace...a slow, continuous flush that never stops.