Tonight, a man is dying. A man who held me on his lap when I was a baby and 'saved me' from my wicked Mother who wanted to take me home. A man is dying who used to push the sugar bowl closer to me so I could lick a finger and steal a sweet taste. A man is dying who has been a son, father, brother, grandfather, and he's only 65. They've turned off all his machines and are just waiting for him to let go.

I haven't seen him in 2 years. He's the father of my biological father. Blood is thicker than water in this family, and when it came to choosing between their son and his children they chose their son, and backed away from my sisters and I, leaving us to make our own way and occasionally sending cards and presents, when they remembered.

But, there is a little of that clannishness in me, because I have checked with the hospital at least 3 times tonight, and if he makes it through the night I'll be there tomorrow morning, even though he may not know it.

Tonight I spoke to my biological father. He sounded subdued, not the towering, angry, incomprehensible man I remember. Is this because he's changed, or I've changed, or simply because his father is in there dying? I don't know. He's given me an e-mail and a phone number. I'll write. I'll call. I'll see what happens.

It's been an odd night, tonight.