The day my dad died.

My dad has been in and out of the hospital for years as he was fighting complications from medications and other various health problems, and up until recently it really seemed like he was doing very poorly, but everything was getting a lot better. I called my dad at the end of the summer to tell him my plans to go drive a few states away from where i was going to college to see my girlfriend at her new job, and then it would be just me and him for a few weeks. He was so excited, and so was I.

Move ahead 10 days. I am having the time of my life, no responsibilities, just seeing my girlfriend every day, spending my spare time with my cat, and playing games and watching tv. I couldn't believe how lucky I was. That evening, my girlfriend comes home from work, we take a nap, and I leave my phone in the other room. When we wake up, my mom texts my girlfriend for me to call her, I do, and she tells me my dad has been in an accident. Completely calm, I just ask, "How bad is it?" It never occurred to me that my dad wouldn't just have a few scrapes and bruises. He was my hero, the warrior that could take on the world even when he seemed beaten.

"He's gone."

My brother didn't want to remember my dad any other way than the last time he saw him, which had been hours before his death. But I just could not let it settle in my mind how I had not been home in months, and I could not accept his death. When they pulled back the covering on his face, I felt my life drain away. They say in psychology that if our brain didn't put a face together for us, that we would think its ugly or not recognize it. My dad had been on a motorcycle, and the car he met wasn't forgiving. I couldn't recognize my dad, and it killed me to see the invincible man, my hero, laying before me. I have never been the same.