Guilt.
I’ve been wearing down over the last few months thinking about my Dad. He’s bedridden in Richmond, Va. in a one bedroom apartment. He’s got severe emphysema and gets winded just getting out of bed. He’s on the second floor of this apartment building, so laundry, food shopping, getting his mail, going to the bank, are impossible because those stairs present too much of a challenge for him. I pay his rent and attempt to get things done for him from Ma. My father wasn’t the best Dad on the planet, in fact, he was pretty lousy at it. There …