Just a Ghost

The more days pass, the easier it becomes. Some times it doesn’t hurt as much when I think about my dad. Some days I can think about him and smile about all the wonderful things that made up my dad. Today was not one of those days.

Today I thought about my dad laying in the hospital bed. I thought about how I held his hand so tight for the last few hours of his life. I remember the little drop of blood that had escaped the band aid on his arm. I thought about how the doctor decided not to put a new heart monitor in because it would be pretty much a waste and it would only cause more distress to the man dying in the hospital bed.

I thought about my dads strong and calloused hands. I thought about his love for cutting grass and working in the yard. I thought about how he loved those stupid fidget spinners and crunch bars. I thought about how empty the house is without him.

The world refuses to stop while figure everything out. I can’t wrap my head around the fact that my dad will never walk into my room again and ask me what something is. He will never ask me how to get to a website or how to change his ring tone. I will never argue with him about something that may or may not have happened in a movie.

There are so many things that remind me of my dad.

I finally started writing the story he gave me. I got to over a thousand words in less than an hour and I cried through the whole thing. The story I am writing starts with my dad passing away in the hospital. I relived the last few hours my dad was alive, but I was able to write it. I will probably cry every time I read it and I hope that once it is published, it will make others feel my pain and cry with me.

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