Summon the Tiger

Both my dad and Bill were getting sicker and sicker. By Thanksgiving, my father had decided he needed to sell the partially-finished airplane, and by Thanksgiving my boys had to go and spend a couple of hours trying to get their father dressed for dinner – he was that weak. My dad had a good holiday meal, took several hours that Friday showing the woman that he had contracted to sell the airplane where everything was, and sat on the family room sofa Saturday finishing the pumpkin pie. He stayed in his room on Sunday, the doctor came Monday and told me he thought my dad had maybe a week to live. Tuesday my Dad couldn’t get himself out of the bathroom, and I had to call paramedics to get him back to his hospital bed in the family room. By Wednesday morning he was disoriented, by Wednesday evening he was in a coma, and by Saturday he was dead.