I recently read a blog post that touched a nerve.
In it, a young woman was proud of herself for telling off her father.
On his deathbed.
With days to live.
She had a hard life... Dad took off and mom passed when she was young.
She became tough and grew a hard shell.. And resented daddy.
Can you blame her?
Probably not. From what I understand, he wasn't that great of a guy.
What do I know.
But she's grown now.
And he's dying. (He has since passed)
And you mean to tell me that in these last few moments of life... You're going to lay this on him?
Folks... She didn't go visit him to tell him...
She didn't like... CALL him.
She wrote him a letter.
Sent it to the hospital.
And forced a NURSE TO READ IT TO HIM.
Man is dying.
These amazing women who are put through hell as it is already... Let's face it. Nurses have a crap job.
On top of her already awful day...
She has to stand next to a dying FATHER and read a spite filled hate letter about him to him.
This just makes every fiber of my being hurt.
Sure he could have been a bad guy.
Maybe he killed lots of kittens and mugged old ladies...
But death is.
Death is final.
What happens in ten years when she realizes those were the last words he heard?
What happens when she's laying on her own bed, and she looks around to see loved ones and familiar faces??
Faces of love and memories and... Just. People.
People who love her.
Will she stop to feel bad then?
Or will she too be alone in a dark room with machines and a quiet tv.
Knowing she's about to die.
And in walks a nurse with a letter