Newsillustrator - Rich Johnson
My remembrance
My dad’s last couple of months were really quite hard. Much of them were in hospital and many days were dire. He was at his best socially even as he sickened. He was a gentleman to every caregiver, doctor, nurse and auxiliary. He was kind, and patient, and polite to the other patients in the ward. Even as he himself worsened. He had a constant stream of visitors constantly by his bedside – willing him back to us.
He loved having us there, but he didn’t feel the need to constantly talk. He was a quiet man. So we’d sit, and of course left to my own devices I’d draw. I drew for posterity, for his grandchildren and their children, and honestly, for myself. I never shared these sketches with him.
Too late now.
My remembrance
My dad’s last couple of months were really quite hard. Much of them were in hospital and many days were dire. He was at his best socially even as he sickened. He was a gentleman to every caregiver, doctor, nurse and auxiliary. He was kind, and patient, and polite to the other patients in the ward. Even as he himself worsened. He had a constant stream of visitors constantly by his bedside – willing him back to us.
He loved having us there, but he didn’t feel the need to constantly talk. He was a quiet man. So we’d sit, and of course left to my own devices I’d draw. I drew for posterity, for his grandchildren and their children, and honestly, for myself. I never shared these sketches with him.
Too late now.