Loss

Death and loss is a part of life.

It isn't a phase,

it stays with you for as long as you live.

You can block it out but not forever.

It has to come back one way or another.

Pain is everything.

He was at the age of 84 in the hospital.

I was home,

I wasn't scared or nervous.

I wasn't happy or sad.

I was emotionless.

It was his millionth time to end up in the hospital.

I was positive he would be back in a day, a week, or two, happy and alive and back with new medications that usually lay by his bedside.

I was wrong, he didn't come home with new medications, he wouldn't take short walks with me anymore, he wasn't going to give me Bazooka or Spearmint gum like he usually does, he wouldn't call my name from his bedroom to tell me stories. He wasn't going to be there anymore.

He came home in a casket, he looked peaceful, he was resting.

He was smiling while everyone around him was crying.

I couldn't take a step into that house,

I couldn't see him not breathing.

I didn't have the strength to see him one last time.

I forced myself to stay by his side for three days while he laid there lifeless in a casket.

I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat. I didn't cry anymore, I didn't smile anymore.

For that long week, I told myself every second, every minute that it's part of life and everyone goes through it. I managed to let a few words out to some people but I ended up in tears.

Everyone knew that death would happen for him soon.

I didn't.

I've learned not everyone is going to stay here on earth forever.

I've learned life goes on. You live then you die.

I've learned that nothing lasts forever unless you decide you want it to.

He didn't last forever, but his love did.

I was twelve, now am at sixteen.

My only wish is for him to watch me get my diploma this May.