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So much has happened the past 6 months, time seems at a standstill. One minute he's here talking about how proud he is of me, and the next...he's gone. Men in general have failed me in my life span of 20 years. Dad bailed when I was five, I've met my biological dad a few times, step-dad left to kuwaitt, boyfriends who have taken me for granted. My papa was the only man in my life who never failed me. He never once judged me for anything. He knew my life has been a train wreck, one after another. He knew. He was the only man who'd hug me for 15 minutes and hold me. He was the only one who said he was proud of me and said I could do anything in life. He is gone. God took him from me and my family. He wasn't always a kind man (he was a bastard most of the time). But I saw him change before my eyes. His heart which was a cold stone, turned soft and was beating...now, he's gone. When he changed and learned to love and be loved, God took him. The man who would come to my rescue if my car died, and who comforted me crying in parking lots, was gasping for air and his body deteriorating before my eyes. Fucking cancer. Fucking cancer. My papa and I were close. He loved me so much, as I loved him. It makes me so sick knowing he's gone. Death is a part of life, and I fully understand this. I also know god has a plan for everything...but why did he have to suffer? Why did he have to go through the pain. He opened his eyes for the first time in days. Tears welling intentionally. No words. A shallow gasp. I could tell he was scared. I could tell he was fighting it. I could tell he was trying so so so so so hard to cling to life. Another shallow gasp. Mom racing for the stethoscope, checking his heartrate. My sweet nana cupping his skinny yellow face in her hands crying...my aunt catotonic. My mom shaking her head slowly. "Is he gone? Is he still here? Is there a pulse, mom? Anything?" Silence. His eyes closed and he was gone. 11:40am, Friday october 1st. I sat clutching his lifeless hand, tears pouring from my eyes. He was gone. He wasn't there. I layed with him for twenty minutes. His limbs were freezing, his skin was yellow, he wasn't moving. I cried and rubbed his lifeless, cold hands.
Posted via m.livejournal.com.
Posted via m.livejournal.com.