10 years ago today, at 9:20 pm, in a hospital bed covered with a Pittsburgh Steelers blanket, my dad died.
I was the first family member to make it back to the hospital after he split. Some social worker woman was waiting and gave me a hug I didn’t want. I just wanted to see him.
I laid across his body and sobbed. I was aware that people could hear me, but I didn’t care. It was the floor where people went to die, after all.
10 years later. I still miss him.
I suspect that’s probably never going to change.