And, like many I suppose, we had a complicated relationship.

He was a mean drunk during my childhood and early adolescence, quit booze and started making an effort when I was 13 or 14 (but getting too old to really bond with him at that point), and then only saw each other when I was home for college in my early adulthood. I always appreciated how he tried to be a better dad with my younger siblings, because his effort showed how much he wanted that second chance.

That said, my parents saved nothing for retirement and 99% of my conversations with him as an adult were him calling to borrow money. It wasn't entirely his fault. He had a thriving roofing business until 2008, and now we can look back and see that (at least here in the US) basically everyone's purchasing power was permanently lowered after that. His mistake was adopting so many kids so late in life. His kindness outweighed his good sense.

He started working in the 1950's at age 11 and never stopped, supporting his younger siblings and his mom. (His father died young.) Until a few months ago he was driving with my mom for DoorDash at age 83, because that's just how cruel and uncaring the US is to people.

And, he was very sick. Two years ago he was having trouble using a seat belt and basic door locks due to mild dementia, and he once lost control of his bladder in my car, which I've lent mom and dad for the past two years. When I visited him six weeks ago, it was clear to me that he was dying. Thankfully he woke up for a bit, knew I was there, and I told him to relax because we weren't getting on the roof today.

Still, it feels more like an uncle or a distant grandparent has passed away. Not my dad. I'm really just over here glad that he's no longer in pain and wishing he hadn't lived through all this the last five years.

I will honor him for the quiet kindnesses he showed me, like when he put $1000 in my hands to pay a tuition bill in college so I wouldn't have to quit, or the times he put a blanket over me when I was a kid or carried me to bed and tucked me in, or the time when I was four when he somehow found the money to get surgery for my eyes. I'm also grateful he hired me (and six weeks later fired me) to roof one summer, with (I now understand) the intention of making sure I never chose the life he did because it's such hard physical work.

Now I just hope there's an afterlife where he gets to sit on his ass for more than five minutes and not be surrounded by a bunch of kids.