My father died after a long fight with Alzheimer’s disease. I watched a man who had traveled the world, seen action in Vietnam, and raised four boys . . . The worst part wasn’t losing him—it was that he no longer recognized his sons. We became strangers.
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My father wasn’t a perfect man, and neither am I. He survived a tour of Vietnam in the 1970s and the loss of his first two children. I survived a year in Iraq in support of OIF III and lost my older brother and older sister.
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When my father died, he lay in a cold, damp, and unforgiving room, in a local hospice. It was a typical rainy Georgia morning, the kind where the rain kept an even tempo as it pelted against the glass windowpanes. When he died, he took a piece of me with him.
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@CBCRadioCanada I had the time of my life when I was interviewed on CBC about my HuffPost story about Being a First Time Dad at 50. How about a follow up? Thanks