On April 13th my dad passed away. Today, two months later, I am still in denial.
Every day, I long to hear his keys jingling outside the front door and wait for him to greet all of us with, “How are my beautiful girls?” He would kiss each of our heads, remind us to sit up straight, and ask us about our days.
That Monday was one like any other. My first year of college was coming to an end and I was looking forward to traveling to New York with my dad in the beginning of May. Our flights and hotel had been booked. We talked about riding bikes in Central Park and eating at Mr. Broadway, a restaurant in the city. This would have been our first trip with just the two of us.
Before I left for class that morning, my dad hugged me, kissed my head and wished me a nice day at school. That moment is one that I will never forget. I never thought it would be our last exchange.
Later on in the day, while I was eating lunch at school, I got a text from my mom saying she and my dad were in the ER. My dad had come home from work early, complaining of chest pains. Although I felt a small pang of worry, I didn’t really panic. My dad frequently had chest pains and easily became short of breath, so this seemed to be normal to me. Soon after, though, she told me to pick up my sisters and come to the hospital, and my thoughts quickly changed.
Four hours, two waiting rooms and many prayers later, he was gone. I didn’t get to say a final goodbye.
My dad was one of those dads who called three times a day, just to see what was up. He signed all of his texts with “I love you.”
My dad was one of those dads who slipped me a few dollars to wash the dishes before my mom came home and who praised me even if I didn’t do so well on a test.
My dad was one of those dads who would make hamburgers and wait until I took my first bite, hoping to hear only good things, though they were almost always overcooked.
My dad was one of those dads who covered me with a blanket while I was napping on the couch, and when it became too late, carried me upstairs to my bed and tucked me in.
My dad was one of those dads who loved and cared for my family and me unconditionally, and that is a huge part of what keeps me going every day.
My dad died April 13th aswell, i was only nine. Every thing you wrote connected with the way my dad was,