The Final Goodbye

This isn't really a story. It's more of a letter I wrote to my dad awhile after he died... 

This is a little hard for me to write, but I told myself I would barrel through. You see, I have all of these emotions inside of me that I fear are tearing me apart. Ever since you…died…I've been, well, sick. Not physically, but emotionally and mentally. Yes, dad, I know it's been over a year and you're probably watching over me, trying to tell me that you're okay, that Heaven's a lovely place to live, but I just can't help it. You were--are--my father. I watched the life drain out of you on that hospital bed as you were surrounded by your family. Grandma was there, sitting next to you, holding your hand while Daniel was on your other side, just sitting, staring. He took it hard, dad, harder than any of us, I think. Don't get me wrong, we were all distraught, but Daniel…he couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't do anything but watch and wait. Eric sat beside Grandma or beside Aunt Kathy or beside the window, trying to keep his and our minds off of the situation at hand. Christina was with Austin and he was trying to comfort her in any way possible. I tried to be brave, dad, tried to keep my mind off of your…state. I couldn't look at you, to be honest. You looked so small on that bed, which is strange because you always seemed so big. When did you get to be so small? I remember when I got the news that your condition had worsened. Eric messaged me on face book (ha ha) and told me that I needed to get out to the hospital right away. I was confused because just a few hours ago he told me you were fine, recovering well. Then something went bad… I had to tell somebody what was happening so I sent out a text to my friends, craving their comfort. My friend Cassidy called me up shortly thereafter and I just broke down and started crying. All she could do was listen to my sobs until Rebecca arrived to take me to you. She's so nice, dad; Eric's really lucky to have her. She tried to keep my mind off of your health, but didn't keep it from me, either. She told me that you were in a bad condition and that the doctors weren't sure how long you would live, but she said this in such a way that I felt comforted. Does that make sense? Anyway, I remember when I first got to the hospital, how Eric came out to warn me that you were in pretty bad shape and not to freak out when I saw you. I didn't freak, dad, don't worry. I braced myself as Eric pulled back the curtain revealing your small body lying on the hospital bed, surrounded by our family. I felt my heart sink into my stomach and my throat close up, but I kept my cool and sat next to Christina. Aunt Kathy came over and forced a smile on her lips, to try and comfort me. I am the baby, after all, even though I feel like I'm braver than most of the people in that room. When the doctor came in to tell us that you probably wouldn't make it through the night, a passing thought crossed my mind, telling me the time would be 9 pm. You died at 8:55. When the beeping faded into a single tone, I felt like I wanted to cry, but couldn't. Mom arrived a few hours earlier from work and she wrapped her arms around me, tears falling down her face. Even though you two probably hated each other (did you hate each other?), she still wept for you. Christina told me I could call or text her anytime, which I have done on occasion; we never were really close. Daniel had to leave the room, followed by Sarah. Eric stood bravely, a smile on his face as he tried to hide the tears. Mom told me to give him a hug, which I did right away. I think he needed it desperately. Grandma left after Daniel a few moments later and stood in the hallway outside your room as the doctor went over some final instructions: that he would need to talk with Eric about funeral arrangements, mainly. He said more, but I was deaf to the world. All I could hear was my own heart breaking. Mom took me away just after Christina and Austin left, said I needed to get some sleep. We had talked earlier, before you passed away, that if you were to die that night I would stay home from school. Mom had to run to get the car and asked if I would be okay to wait at the hospital entrance, because it was so cold outside. I said yes and watched her disappear into the darkness. Seconds passed before the tears fell. I tried to keep silent, so as not to disturb any patients on that floor.  When mom came back with the car, I broke down and screamed and wailed, not caring if anyone heard me. I cried all the way to the hotel, stopping only when we ordered some food from Burger King (I hadn't eaten since around 1 o'clock). Mom pulled into a local inn and went inside to check us in, leaving me alone in the car. I wanted that, though, dad. I wanted to be alone so she wouldn't hear me curse at God for taking you away from us, so she wouldn't hear her brave little girl break. When I returned to school that Friday, my friends had bought me a present, I think both for Valentines day and for comfort. I remember it was in a Twilight bag, a sort of joke between the three of us. We went to my first hour class and just sat there, talking. When the boy I liked at that time came into the room, a sad look of knowing crossed his face. He was one of the people I told about your death. He was furious, honestly, saying he thought you'd had more time. We just looked at each other for awhile and then he gave me a hug, asking if I was alright. I couldn't lie to him and he said, "you're hanging in there." It wasn't a question. He knew I was broken. I don't really talk to him anymore, dad. Stuff happened between us and it got to painful to be around him. Nothing bad, don't worry, you don't have to haunt him. He just kind of forgot about me, I guess. So…okay that is kind of bad, but still, don't haunt him. Anyway, dad, it's about 11:50 am on Sunday, May 6, 2012, a little over a year since you died. I've been on several different medications to help control my depression, and only the most recent one has seemed to help at all. I no longer lay awake for hours, plagued with thoughts of the earlier day at school. I no longer scream and throw things out of my frustration. I play the keyboard sometimes, the one you bought me a long time ago. Remember? It's sitting by my window, next to my bed. Yes, I still have my guitar, but I don't play it. It was the last thing you gave to me. I can't bring myself to strum the chords. I'm not strong enough anymore. Anyway, dad, I just wanted to write to you, get all of these feelings off of my chest. It's helped, a little. Of course, it doesn't hurt that it's thundering outside right now. Gives me a chance to really feel again. Because, you see, I think I've kind of shut off the memory of you dying. Every time I would think about it before, I would immediately shut down and think of something else or nothing at all. But I'm better now, dad. I finally thought about you without crying or jerking to another memory. I guess I just had to say a proper goodbye. The one I gave you at the hospital just felt to painful. I still remember it, what I said. "I love you, daddy." I hadn't called you daddy in years and I like to think that that was the closure you needed, to finally be in peace, knowing that I loved you, despite your flaws. I know at times you felt like you weren't a good father and maybe you weren't, at times. You were quick to anger, but so am I. But I still loved--love--you, dad. I always have. Always will. That's all, dad. I just had to say that. I love you. Goodbye.