I couldn't quite find the right words,

as I looked at the sprawling blank page.

My heart aches when I remember you.

My heart breaks as I write for you.

 

A warm august morning was all it took.

I hate fall because of that one morning.

I was woken up by a frantic nurse,

her hands shook in disbelief and fear.

 

My heart sank.

My eyes burned.

My stomach lurched.

My lungs grew heavy.

 

I was 16 when I saw my first dead body.

I thought you'd somehow be immortal.

I thought you'd at least see me graduate.

Yet, you lay there on your bed,

A calm expression.

 

I took your pulse begging some higher power for mercy.

There was none.

A father of 2 gone in one fatal night.

You simply stopped breathing.

 

I was already forced to be an adult.

Pay my own bills, take care of groceries,

take care of you.

But, suddenly I was pushed onto my own 2 feet.

I couldn't depend on anyone anymore.

 

I struggled. 

I fought myself.

I hurt myself.

I ended up in the hospital.

The thought of living without you was just too,

heavy.

 

I  learned to love myself.

I knew you'd kick my ass if I showed up to the afterlife early.

I gained my own confidence.

I got into college.

I'm planning to go to medical school.

 

Are you proud?

I am. 

I've gone farther than I ever thought I could go. 

I've reached heights I never thought I could.

I've learned to love me while still loving you.

So.

 

Are you proud dad?