<center><h1>Dead Beat Dad – Part Three of Three</h1></center>

![Deadbeat Dad Part Three.png](https://steemitimages.com/DQmekRtKx35uYw1TyLVfCydTSnaGofZskVtePfmVucxs6hU/Deadbeat%20Dad%20Part%20Three.png)

<center>I did not see my dad again until my uncle called to tell me my father was on his death bed. Sadly, I am the only one out of his family and friends who showed up to be with him. My younger sister did go with me, but he is not her father. I felt a great sadness that no one else showed up. Although, I was sure it was due to bridges he had burned.</center> 

<center>I did not recognize him when we entered the room. A pastor was sitting with him; I glanced at the man in the bed, assumed my dad was in the next bed and went to look. The pastor seen the confusion on my face and asked me who I was looking for. I said my dad’s name and the pastor replied that he was the man I had passed by.</center>

<center>I was in a bit of disbelief but I bent over to get a closer look and I did then see the familiarity in his face. He was much thinner and older than I had ever seen him look. I felt badly for not recognizing him but he looked very little like the man I remembered.</center>

<center>I was told a heart attack and a few strokes had their toll on him. He had little use of his left side and he was not able to speak, although he did try when he seen me. He was also diabetic and had a foot that was starting to blacken.</center>

<center>I will never know what dad was trying to say to me that day but I know he knew it was me. When he focused on me I seen his eyes light up and he tried to smile. The pastor said that was the most response he had seen out of my dad in the time he was sitting with him. The nurse I had spoken to before entering his room said he had not been responsive all day. I am glad he knew I was there, although, I have often wondered if dad thought it was a dream.</center>

<center>If I had of known he was in a nursing home, I would have been happy to watch over his care. I would have even been willing to go visit him. None of that mattered when it came right down to it though. All I could do then was be there and hold his hand. So that is what I did until he passed away.</center>

<center>I did not expect to but I broke down after he passed. My father opted to be cremated and I have his ashes. Before I tell you this next park, I need to remind you that I did inherit dad’s twisted sense of humor.</center>

<center>I brought dad’s ashes into the house, sat them on the table. I let out a big sign and told him that he had won. After all, I made it clear that he was never coming back into my home, yet there he sat.

<center>His ashes are still here. I have part of them in a heart locket and the rest in what resembles wine bottles. Three to be exact; I had no clue how big a container for ashes needed to be. Honestly, all things considered, I think the bottles were very fitting.</center>

![IMG_2159.JPG](https://steemitimages.com/DQmUxwg5sxHSaMbiA6CQp1AYkusK9iUtMmR41BEfUvAohRs/IMG_2159.JPG)

<center>The bottles of ashes will remain with me until I decide what to do with them. There are a few options in mind. The one that stands out to me is seeing if I can bury them in my dad’s father’s grave. 

<center>My grandfather had custody of my father until he passed when my dad was ten years old. I think it might be fitting to reunite them if I am allowed to do so.</center>

<center>In conclusion, I have to say that his death really has not been that hard on me. Certainly not in the same way Mom's death has been. I guess, that is what happens when someone does not make themselves a valued part of your life. </center>

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