Walking slowly into the bright white hospital,
My hands trembling to see him.
The strong smell of latex and cleanser surrounds me.
An old, fragile man sitting in a chair;
No muscle or color to his face.
The man I remember was a strong, smiling person, but that was two years ago.
The room is silent, except for his beating heart monitor.
I stand against the white cabinets listening to his words.
He says he is going to change, but I know he will not.
I nervously slide my hand against the smooth countertop.
This old man is not that old, for he is only forty-five.
He is my father.