the night before

It was October 27th, 2008. Everything in my life had come to a halt. I had feared my father’s death for as long as I could remember. Sitting in my father’s study, just a room away, I knew he was breaths away from his heavenly home. My father lay still in a hospital bed in the middle of the living room. All the furniture had been rearranged to accommodate the bed, and still… the bed was too short. His 6-foot 3-inch frame so obviously cramped for more room. And though we all noticed, no one said a word about it…we hesitated to ask for something bigger or more because honestly, we could not. Pain ran through our veins and seeped into any available crevice, only to reroute and find no room to escape. Days and days of heaviness…the kind that you feel in your bones, the kind of pain that cripples you at the core…pain that compels you to move closer to the ground so you can lie on the floor and weep uncontrollably. It was THAT kind of pain. Either you know it, or you don’t. Only 25 days before, my father had received the diagnosis. Cancer. Stage 4. Growing and changing everything inside of him, starving his organs of life. Until October 2nd, we’d known nothing of it. Now, 25 days later, my father lay there, weaker...

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