Fuck.

My sister called me. I knew that meant dad’s on the downhill slope. Doctors say he’s in level 4/5 of Parkinsons. Can’t move himself. Can’t eat. Can’t control his bowel.

Flying down Saturday to say goodbye. Or tomorrow if shit goes downhill overnight.

I just want him to stop suffering. His brain is still as fuckin’ sharp as ever, so I know he’s feeling tortured.