At almost 90 my father never stopped bumping into life.
And he never waited to be needed.
I once sat across from my father with a cup of coffee and asked him a question most people avoid.
“What does it feel like to be almost ninety?”
He didn’t give me something poetic. He gave me something honest.
The hardest part wasn’t his body. It was staying relevant. Finding purpose. Figuring out where meaning l…