My dad is dying of Huntington's Disease. My mom called a few weeks ago and told me that he decided this summer that he wants to go to Heaven. He's finished. He has fought for 18 years with this wretched disease. It is time for it to be ended.

B and I went home to see him and visit my mom this weekend. My sister and her husband came, too. I wanted it to be a real time for me. I wanted to be able to sit next to him and feel something for him. I wanted to connect with him. I wanted to make this visit meaningful, for him and for me.

I felt nothing. I was bored. I was impatient to leave. When it was finally time to go, I leaned down and gave him a quick hug (as much of a hug as you can give someone who is in a wheelchair) and said, "It was good to see you, dad." No, "I love you, have a good day." No, "I love you, we'll come see you again soon." Nope. Just, "It was good to see you, dad." My sister bent down and gave him a hug, and I suspect that she told him she loved him... he grabbed her sleeve and looked at her... and he started crying like a child. She teared up. She said, "We'll come back and see you just as soon as we can travel with the new baby. I love you, Dad." I stood there and watched. I felt guilty. I'm a horrible daughter. I know that I might not see him alive in this world again. And I couldn't even tell him that I love him. Do I love him? The last intense feelings I remeber having about him were fear, anger, and annoyance.

When I search my memories to find love, I remember being a child, and... finding his dirty movies in the basement..... standing in the hallway, watching him hit my mom while they were arguing..... being in the car while he was driving and being scared for my life.... lying in bed late at night listening to him shout at my mom.... I remember feeling sorry for my brother when dad would insist on driving him to his baseball practices. I remember watching dad smash plates on the ground when mom made something for dinner that he didn't want. I remember him throwing things at mom when she said something he didn't like. I remember sitting at the table while he told my sister she was fat.

Yelling. Throwing. Hitting. Poor Hygene. The Food Network, 24/7. Kicking the dog. Controlling the house. Everyone must be silent, but he can watch the TV at volume 30 at 1am.

These are my memories of this man who is my father. I'm told that he was a normal, funny, likable man once. I am so scared that I will turn into him.