After a few tough months that felt like years, my Dad passed away last weekend.

His body and his brain failed him with a steady swiftness the past couple weeks, as he became increasingly less responsive, spending the last two days bedridden, in what looked like a really deep sleep. He showed no sign of discomfort, and my mom and a sister were with him in the end, which brought comfort to the family.

Dad lived eighty-eight mostly happy, healthy years, but dementia made for a wretched end of life and left a lot of fodder for reflection.

I’ll sift through all of that eventually, but for now I’ll appreciate the quiet close, and that he left a family willing and able to slog through this together.

Mostly though I am grateful for the extraordinary healthcare professionals who cared for him when we had to move him out of his home to an unfamiliar place. They are exceptional human beings, models of kindness and compassion who made an excruciating experience bearable.

My dad was a prolific pontificator, always up for discussion on political issues, changing social norms, or controversial calls in athletic events. He was a pretty good listener, though a lifetime of conversations taught me to recognize the signs of an impending monologue and the effective evasive maneuvers.

He taught me how to drive a stick-shift, mix an old-fashioned, and to be contrary enough to ask just a couple questions before agreeing blindly – George wishes I’d been absent that day.

I learned from him to remember we all look at life differently, so be patient, be kind.

Rest in peace Daddy-o.