I held his hand, looked upon his sick face, and said, "I am here, Dad."
"Well, fuck you and fuck the airplane that brought you here." He coughed.
His lips were cracked and dry. His brown hair had fallen off not too long ago and his eyes were dim, the colors fading.
"It is okay Dad." I said.
"It is not okay son," he coughed some more. "Look at me for fuck's sake, just look at me. Fifty-five and I am down like a sick fucking horse."
"Take it easy dad."
"Where is the fucking whore?" He said and looked around.
"You mean Mom?" I asked.
"Yeah, that whore."
"In the kitchen."
"Always in the fucking kitchen. That fucking whore in the kitchen and you...you fucking sonofbitch are here."
"I am here for you Dad."
"Well big fucking deal, son, big fucking deal." He coughed. "Life is one big fucking whore son, the biggest whore in the universe. The fucking bitch, I...I would fuck her up the ass right now if I see her, right this second with my sick dick and with my sick balls." He cried. "The fucking whore never showed me a good fucking day. And now I am going to die without having done a damn thing..." he said and then died.
I covered his face with the sheets and went into the kitchen.
"He is dead." I said and grabbed a water bottle from the frig.
She kept washing the dishes and looking outside through the big window.