This Is Us

Watching My Father Die

The quiet, crushing weight of Alzheimer's

My Father and I near the end.

For the first 12 years of my life, the idea of a “dad” was pretty esoteric. I knew I technically had one, but I’d often go years without seeing him. He was off-limits, “broken.” He had something called “alcoholism” probably because of his experiences in a place called “Vietnam”—neither of which I really…