Writing among a midnight vigil

I've gotten some writing done while I've been taking care of my dying father during the past several nights.  It's mainly been wargaming related stuff.  A new The Sword and The Flame variant for the Spanish-American War of 1898.  I've also written a critique of a new manuscript I read last night. 

This evening had me writing my father's impending obituary.  It was a simple piece.  I didn't feel it merited anything fancy.  Being Southern, my father's family obits rambled on for paragraphs.  Writing used an economy of words to convey a point across.  At least, that's what I've been taught. 

I never got along with my father.  He and I clashed.  I've done more for my parents in the past several months than I care to recall.  That's fine.  My father will die at home.  Loved and not alone.  I haven't really reflected on what things would have been like if he'd gone to a regular hospice unit.  I wouldn't have been burdened in staying up for nights on end making sure he got his pain medicine.  The whole ordeal has worn me down.  I'm tired and in need of sleep.

There isn't much else to say.