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April 4, 2012
It has been one year today since I last saw my Dad’s blue eyes. One year since he hugged me. One year since he got in his shiny black car and pulled out of my driveway for the very last time. It has been one year since I last saw my dad alive.
I go back to this day last year and wish so badly that we could have a do-over. I knew there was something wrong with my Dad, and I think he did too. Maybe he was done. Maybe he wanted to be free from the pain. Maybe he wanted to be able to breathe again. Maybe he was ready to say goodbye for good. I tried to get him to go to the hospital, but I didn’t try hard enough. When I hugged him goodbye and felt how warm he was, I told him that and he snapped back "I’m fine!"
Those words very well may have been his last words to me. I don’t even remember. I had no idea that I would be woken the next day with the phone call that would bring my world crashing down around me. I had no idea I would never see my Dad’s blue eyes again.
I will never forget that phone call from my Mom. I could hear the fear in her voice and feel the pain in her heart. She gave me hope, though, and I got there as fast as I could, but when I saw my Dad, I knew he was already gone.
The next week was the worst week of my life, and I have been re-living it over and over in my head as we come up on the anniversary of my Dad’s passing. He wasn’t in that hospital bed, it was just his body hooked up to tubes and machines, and he would have never wanted to be like that. We had to make sure, though. For him and for us.
I don’t want this next week to come. I don’t want to remember where I was a year ago. I want to go to sleep tonight with the memory of my Dad’s blue eyes, and wake up a week later with that memory, rather than the ones I have.
I miss my Dad.