text: He is dying. She knows that and doesn't know how to feel about it. Is she supposed to be unset? He is her father. She should be grieving. Moving towards the house she grew up in, her steps slow as she reaches the porch. A creak as her foot hits the bottom step. A pause as she waits for her heartbeat to catch up. A thousand memories flood her mind with just that sound. Jumping over it, as not to alert him. Sitting on it, locked out of the house. She pulls in a deep breath as she prepares to climb the others. The squeak of the screen door brings to mind her me-ma’s house. It was the one place she felt safe. Summers on the farm, running around with her cousins, just being a child. The next steps bring her to the door. A slight hesitation before she knocks. Maybe no one will answer. Perhaps he is already gone. Hope mixed with dread at this thought has her shaking. A minute passes before she hears footsteps. They are lighter than her father's. The home health care nurse or her stepmom, she assumes. “Lynn, we are so glad you are here.” She is swept into Mary's arms and breaths in the scent of vanilla that always seemed to surround her. Underneath it is the sickly smell of sickness, the smell of her father. “Thank you. I ... had to.” She is led into the house, Mary’s arm around her shoulder. “He has changed.” “No offense but you haven't known him as long as I have.” Mary stops them at the entrance to the living room. The ragged furniture of her childhood has been replaced by well matched sets. A woman ‘s touch. “Lynn, I know what he did. He told me all before we were married. He wanted me to know who I was marrying.” Lynn is shocked. Her hand grabs a hold of the wall. “Yet you married him.” “Yes, because he has changed. God redeemed him. He apologized. I told him it was to the wrong person.” “Yeah.” she stared into the room, her eyes finding the corner, now decorated with a cute shelving unit covered in little figurines. She wondered if it covered the marks made in it while she held fast as she was beat. “You have a right to hate him. I am not sure how I would feel if I was you. All I can tell you is the angry violent man you knew is gone.” “It is easy to change knowing you are about to meet your maker,” She sighs, “Sorry. None of this is your fault. Thank you for seeing too him.” “Come Lynn. He will need more morphine soon. He wants to talk to you while lucid.” She tightens her shoulders, standing straight. No longer the little girl that hid in her room, praying her daddy wouldn't be angry that day. No longer the teen making plans to leave as soon as she could. No longer the sixteen year old who left home never planning to return. She has made a decent life for herself. Finished highschool while living and working on her own. Now attending college courses online while holding down a full time job and attending counseling, she is in the best place she can be to confront him again. Mary enters first. “Irvin, you have a visitor.” Lynn walks in slowly. The last time she saw her father he was throwing her stuff out. “Get out then!” She can hear his strong angry voice even now, “ After all I did for you this is how you repay me!” She had told him she wanted to move, that she couldn't take his abuse anymore. Shaking her head, she tries to pull herself back into the present. “Who is it?” She recognizes it as her dad’s voice but barely. It carries no strength. There is only a painful weakness. It has her locked in place. She knew but to hear his voice, it brought it all into sharp focus. “Come,” Mary takes her arm and leads her forward. Good. She wasn't sure she could have moved if she hadn't, “it is affecting his eyes. You will have to get close for him to see you.” She whispers to her. “Okay.” her voice comes out weakly too. She leads her to his bedside. He is half the man he was before. Half the weight, half the presence. His once thick dark hair is gone and she can clearly see his skull through what is left. His skin is so pale it is almost translucent. His eyes are dark with pain. Still, they light up some when they see her. “Lynn! Is it you?” Her throat fills with unexpected tears. She simply nods, “I thought I would die before seeing you again.” “I wasn't sure I would come.” She slips into the chair beside his bed. The table beside the bed is full of medicine bottles. “I wouldn't blame you if you didn't. Lynn, I am sorry. My inner demons were in control,” a shake of his head brings a groan. Mary is at his other side. “My love, do you need...” He waves her off. “Not yet. I will bear it for a few minutes,” he focuses’ back on his estranged daughter, “that is true but only part of the excuses. They were but I didn't fight them. My mom raised me better, in church. Your mom would have wanted the same. Forgive me for that as well. If you can at all. I didn't do right by you at all. Her death, no that is another excuse. I could've fought against my demons. I didn't. Lynn, I'm sorry.” “For not raising me in church or...?” She wants to forgive him. The pitiful man that lays dying before her isn't the same man that terrorized her childhood. She sees the difference in his eyes, in the peace that is there, even in the dying. Still, she must know what he is sorry for. “Everything. Every harsh word and touch. Every raised fist and belt. More though, every time I could have and should have been gentle and loving and choose violence instead. I wasn't the father you deserved. You were right to leave.” She finds herself gasping as tears of grief and deep forgiveness run down her face. “I forgive you. I love you.” “Thank you. I love you my sweet girl.” It is the last words he says to her. He slips from a drugged sleep into a deeper unco nscious, then into his final rest. His daughter holds his hand throughout.