My Dad was 51 when I was born, and he died when I was 22. I'm ashamed to admit I was angry that he was an older father, especially when he got sick. While my college friends were off to clubs and bars on weekends, I was visiting my Dad in the hospital and watching him slip away. In my young mind, he was abandoning me, my brother, and most importantly my mother. My father didn't really get to see me as an adult, and I often wonder what kind of advice he'd give me now.