It feels as if it was just yesterday my dad was sitting on the couch. I was just about ready for bed as he called me over. “Don’t worry about tomorrow, Daddy’s going to be fine. I love you.” he said. He gave me a kiss and sent me off to bed.
It was June 6 2006, also known as devil’s day. I was 11 in the 6th grade and about to lose the only man I have ever loved and I didn’t even know it. My dad went in that morning for vascular surgery on his legs, a common procedure for surgeons. My sister picked me up from school that day as we went home and waited for my mom to call.
Finally the phone rang at about 3:30pm. “Everything went good. He’s in the recovery room resting up now. You guys can come see him in a little if you’d like.” my mom said. Later that evening my two sisters went up to go see my dad but I stood behind. The thought of seeing my dad lying in a hospital bed scared me.
June 7, the next day, everything took a turn for the worse. The Dr’s had to stick a tube down my dad’s throat to help him breathe because he was having a hard time to doing so on his own. His organs slowly started to shut down.
June 8, I had a baseball game that my dad would normally attend to cheer me on. It was sort of our thing, I would play sports and he would come to all my games and practices. I wanted to keep my mind distracted from the fact that I was losing my dad so I went. We won the game and I received the game ball but something just didn’t feel right. I couldn’t help but feel sad that my dad wasn’t there. One of my teammates walked up to me and asked “what’s the matter?” my reply “my dad’s dying okay?” and I walked away.
Later on around 930pm I heard my mom pull in the driveway. I ran upstairs to pretend I was sleeping, I didn’t want to hear what she was about to say. When she started to yell my name from the bottom of the stairs to come down in a shaky voice, I knew it was coming. I went downstairs and saw my sister and I’s God mothers sitting on the couch. I sat on the rocking chair and my mom blurted out in tears “Dad didn’t make it.”
In that moment my world came crashing down. Tears pouring down my face as I screamed in agony. The only person who could comfort me, the only person I wanted to comfort me, was my dad. I cried for days. When it was time for the wake and funeral I was all cried out. Many of my aunts and uncles were surprised to how well I held myself together but in reality there were no more tears left in me.
Getting accustomed to “not having a dad ” was the hardest thing I think I will ever go threw. He was my best friend. We did everything together. He brought me to school every morning, taught me how to play soccer and baseball, helped me with my homework every night and even cooked dinner all the time. Getting all that ripped right out of my hands without any warning was something no body should have to through.
Almost nine years later the pain I felt when he passed is still persistent. There are some days where it is overbearing and I just shut myself out. The feeling of never getting the chance to have a father daughter dance, him teaching me how to drive, watching me graduate or even walking me down the isle never goes away. It hurts to think about my daughter growing up without her grampy. The regret I have for never going to see him and getting the chance to say goodbye haunts me. I wonder everyday what life would be like, who I would be if he were to still be here. Many people tried to comfort me and would tell me “it’ll all get better in time. Time heals all wounds.” But the reality of it is, time doesn’t heal all wounds, you just get use to the pain being there.