I remember reading that when you originally published it. Beautiful.
I lost my Dad this year. I have many fond memories of him, baseball and non-baseball. However, the last memory, and, in fact, the last time I saw Dad conscious, he gave me a hug, which was the first since I was a little kid. I think that was his way of saying goodbye. The funny thing is that I knew it was goodbye at the time, because Dad wasn't a hugger. But it was him who instigated the hug, and I, being a hugger, was only too glad to reciprocate.
BG, tell him him you love him, because that's the last thing I told Dad that last time I saw him conscious. I'm so grateful that those were my last words to him, because there was a time, during my personal trials and tribulations, when I made a choice to be estranged from Dad, blaming him for my own problems and for pushing me too hard as a youngster. It wasn't until I had recovered enough that I recognized and could admit that he was a great dad, and I reconciled with him. It wasn't his fault; the fault was my own.
The ninth inning is hard. Saying goodbye is gut-wrenchingly difficult. But the love and the memories transcend mortality and are timeless.
