Father - What is age, but a number?

I watched my dad grow old.
For him it started as early as it starts for any of us.
But it did not help that he had a small vessel inside,
his head, that showed its' age too soon.
It wept, not tears but small amounts of precious blood.
He drank, he smoked when he drank and he slept so little,
he made up for it by drinking hours upon hours of coffee,
every day.

What is age, but a number, every ones last number, is different as
they are, down to the last; day, hour, minute and second.
What is age, but a number, not a system of ranking - he was a 74, and
all along I thought he was a 90.. while others thought he was only ever
a 50.
What is age, but a number that is only celebrated on your birth day and
reckoned on your last day.

He had a heart with scar tissue, I too have scars on my heart, but not from some
hidden heart attack that did not take his life, just lessened the zest he had for it
trapping him in the laws; of life and diminishing returns.

When he was 52 he no longer could answer my questions on how I could be a better
husband and father. His capacity to remember shifted like the sands in some
distant desert, each day for him was like walking in uncharted territory,
with out a map and compass, he no longer had the landmarks, it was even at times
unfamiliar as to why this was happening to him.

I never replaced him with a surrogate, how could I?
He was painfully human, he made more mistakes than right decisions
he was my dad, my father. He taught me much, showing me how frail
humanity is, and how stubborn he was, to hang on to what life he had left.

I loved him, he love me, he loved all of us - it was not easy for any of us.
He once told me the "one's ability to show emotion was something to be respected,
and not rejected as weakness" he of course said this in his best stoic Norse manner.

22 years he toiled, trying to find, who he used to be. All he got was further and further
lost. 11 hours of brain surgery would do that to most of us. Then that scar tissue
took a toll, then the tag team of Dementia and Alzheimer's took him on ... by this time
the only fight he had left was with the very strangers, who tried to take care of him.

I can not know how he thought things through. I could tell he was trudging through waist
deep swamp, trying to get out of the cloud that shielded the sun - he had no choice but
to wander mired while those of us visited him became more strangers and less family.
Father - what is age, but a number, and you were more than any sum to me, even with
your flaws, your bad judgement, I saw the good in you, a flickering flame, I kept my eye on it until it was extinguished. It was then, I said goodbye.