An Imperfect Stranger

"I wish there was a stranger, sitting in this room," my father mumbled as I watched him from across the room, in a Chicago hospital. I sat stoically in the corner of the room, but still listened intently as he laid dying, mumbling confessions off into space. "You know Chris, I don't regret the way I treated your mother," he muttered. "What about me?" I asked. "What do you mean 'what about me?' I …

…amp;lt;Tab/>I dried my eyes and nodded. Sometimes I can't believe the shit that comes out of my mouth. I imagine all the things in life that never were and all the things that could have been. You might think that I want to stop but...the truth is I feel nothing. I wish there was someone other than a stranger sitting in this room, but that's not in the cards.