I'm his daughter, a caregiver, a mother. It's my job to soothe and set right and heal and nurture. But now, as I sit by his bedside, all I can do is listen to his raspy breathing. He's not long for this world and there isn't anything I can do to change that. I have to let go.
I let go of my role as caregiver. I let go of my role as chief information-gatherer. I let go of my role as worrier supreme. I let go of the reins I've struggled with for so long, and hand them over to God. Hand Dad over, hand my heart over. It's hard, but I'm learning to let go.