My Father Is on His Deathbed
I am not planning to see him alive one last time; there isn't much to see, and my sister reports that he gives no sign of understanding what people say to him. I do expect to attend his funeral soon enough.
We were often at loggerheads, as fathers and sons sometimes are; when I read Samuel Butler's The Way of All Flesh at the age of eighteen, I found the points of resemblance to my own family uncanny. (In some ways; in other ways, the families are different.) A few years ago, I said to my father that I forgave him for his various wrongs, and I asked his forgiveness for the wrongs I had done to him. He said that he forgave me, and hugged me.
At least, before his death we managed that reconciliation.