The Last Glass

A few weeks
before my father
died,
I got the money
together to visit
him in hospital.
I didn’t make
much then,
and lived a long
way away.
It took several
hours to get
there.
He was on
the 3rd floor,
in a room
at the end
by himself, with
a large “Hazardous”
sign on the
door.
He was surprised
and happy to
see me.
I stayed a few
hours, until
the nurse told me
visiting time was
over.
Before I left
I pulled out
a good bottle
of whiskey (the
kind he always
loved) and put
it in his bedside
drawer.
He stopped
me.
“I don’t want it,”
he said, “take it
away.”
Later that
night drinking
from the
bottle,
I realised
I’d never
see him
again.