Part four

I remember, before the end he looked so old. so much older than his ninety years. he was so fragile. thin birdlike limbs and paper thin skin like an x-ray on grey crépe paper. he barely reminded me of the man who loved his dog more than he loved me. or the man who turned from me in racist hate for the man I married. or even the old fool who had been taken for a ride by audacious teenage degenerates, I feel so guilty for noting that he spent my inheritance on cocaine. he knew I needed the money. I couldn't spurn him then though, on his death bead. couldn't turn away from him as he had me so many times. I desperately wanted not to care. we laid him out in his grey suit. I was stoic but my tears betrayed me in the end.

Part one here.

Next part here.