I woke up that morning and heard my father grunting around in his room. I got out of bed and wrapped my robe around me, then ventured over to his door. I knocked on it softly, hearing him curse from behind it.

“Dad? You okay?” I asked.

Then, I heard something crashing to the ground.

“Dad!”

I threw his bedroom door open and went running through his room. I pushed my way into the bathroom and found him trying to pull himself up by the edge of the bathroom counter. I slipped my arms underneath his and hoisted him up. I sat him on the toilet seat, taking stock of his body. I checked him for wounds, for any bleeding or bruising, anything that could indicate we needed to get to a doctor.

“Dad, what happened?” I asked.

“I just slipped. That’s all,” he grumbled.

But when I looked at his legs, I found them trembling, shivering, and not from cold.

“Daddy, did you take your pain medication last night?” I asked.

“I’m tired of taking that stuff. I don’t need it,” he said, grunting.

I sighed and stood up, then hoisted his arm around my shoulders. He combatted me at every turn, but he was too frail to resist. I walked him over to his bed and settled him back down into it, then looked on his bedside table.

There sat the pills and the water I’d laid out for him last night.

Without another word, I picked them up and handed them over to him. He looked at me with sad eyes before he tossed them back. I tipped the water up slowly, coaxing him into drinking all of it. He had to stay hydrated. He had to keep this medication in his system so he could tolerate everything we were putting his body through in order to save his life.

I looked at his pillow and reached over, swiping away the chunk of hair on it before he saw.

“There. Now, I need you to lie back down. I’ll make us some breakfast,” I said.

“I’m fine. I can eat at my own damn table,” he said, coughing.

“I’ll eat breakfast in bed with you and we’ll watch a movie. You know, like we used to do when I was a little girl.”

“You need to go to work,” he said.

“I have today off, Dad.”

I slipped the chunk of hair into my robe pocket, unsure of what else to do with it.

“Fine,” my father said as he relented.

“Good. Now, you stay in this bed. I’ll be right back with breakfast, and then we’ll watch a movie before we get you cleaned up.”

“I can clean myself up. I’m a grown man, Ira.”

“Then, I’ll stand outside the closed door while you do. Just in case you fall again,” I said.

“I won’t fall again.”

“Daddy,” I warned.

He grumbled as I stepped out of his room. I left the door cracked behind me, then raced into my room for my phone. I took it out to the kitchen where I discarded the hair, and I sighed when I saw two more massive chunks of my father’s hair in the trash.

I blinked back tears as I dialed the number to the office of the restaurant.

“Deb’s Dine-In, this is Clay speaking.”

“Hey, Clay. It’s Ira,” I said.

“Ira? Are you all right?”

I sighed. Apparently, I wasn’t good at covering up my emotions.

“I know this is last-minute, and I know I said I could cover the afternoon shift, but my father isn’t doing well this morning. He fell in the bathroom and he—”

I looked back over at the trash can as a silent tear streamed down my cheek.

“Take the day off, Ira. I’ve got several people I can call. Okay?” Clay asked.

“Okay. Thank you,” I breathed.

“Do you need anything?”

I need my father to not be dying.

“No. Just the day off. Thank you,” I said.

“Call me if you need anything. I’ll keep my ear on the office phone,” he said.

“I appreciate that. Thank you.”

“Send your father my regards.”

“I will. Thanks,” I said.

I hung up the phone and started cooking breakfast. I fixed my father’s favorite the way my mother used to make it: poached eggs on a toasted English muffin with jelly on the muffin, warmed butter poured over the top, and cheese grits on the side. I made one for myself as well before pouring us both two massive glasses of orange juice. My mother always told me the extra vitamin C was necessary to help the body heal.

But it wasn’t healing my father. Not from the cancer that had eaten away at him for three years.

“I brought breakfast,” I said.

“I smell your mother’s recipe,” my father said, grinning.

“All right. I’ve got your food and your orange juice. All I need is what movie you want to watch.”

“Why don’t we watch your mother’s favorite? Hmm?”

“You want to watch Dirty Dancing?” I asked.

“Huh? That wasn’t your mother’s favorite. She loved that movie Overboard.”

“She and I took a liking to watching Swayze’s hips gyrate in Dirty Dancing. Kurt Russell didn’t dance like that in Overboard. So, she kept that one for you,” I said.

“Oh, your mother was a sneaky one.”

“How about we watch both?” I asked.

My father smiled brightly. “I think that’s a damn good idea, princess.”

I went over and plucked the DVD from the shelf by the television in my father’s room. I’d set it up for him in here when he’d become practically housebound. I put in Overboard first, knowing he’d be passed out halfway through it. I climbed into bed with him and snuggled under the covers. We ate our breakfast together in silence and watched the Kurt Russell movie my mother and father had practically memorized.

And when breakfast was done, I slipped my hand into my father’s, feeling him relax with the pain medication and the food rushing through his system.

One day, I’d feel my father’s hand relax for good.

My only fear was that the day was coming much sooner than I had ever anticipated.