I sit here, alone, watching TV. I am rarely alone and the memories come flooding back. It was awful. Like watching someone else from afar; the phone call and me saying, "okay" over and over while silent tears coursed down my face. Jon and Kate wondering what was wrong with my dad, and me writing "brain tumors" on a scrap piece of paper.
Fast forwarding to his last day of life. His wife planning a 4th of July party while he lay dieing in the living room. His breath shuddering in and out and me running to him saying, "It's okay Daddy. I am here. I will be okay." Following up in front of a stranger in their kitchen, "It is time to go."
Going to bed that night I knew he wouldn't live through the night. I woke to hear his breathing stopped and Karen calling hospice and the funeral home. I stayed with him, shivering in the cold house and texting my husband and daughter that he was gone. The words of my then 15 year old daughter saying, "I am so sorry Mom" come back to me over and over.
I just miss him and wish life wasn't so unfair. I miss his hugs, his laughter, his spirit, his steadiness. I miss claiming him as my dad. I miss him. Life hurts.
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