The Fear of Losing a Father & the Gift of Meaning & Interpretation

"I walked into the hospital room. My father lay in bed. He looked so small and weak. Tubes were everywhere. I held his hand. It was cold. He opened his eyes. He looked at me. "I love you," he whispered. His voice was soft. "I love you too, Dad," I said. Tears fell. He smiled weakly. Then his eyes closed. The machine made a long beep. He was gone. I felt my heart break. I could not breathe. I hugged his body. I begged him to wake up. He did not move. He was never coming back. I screamed. I cried. I felt so empty. Who would teach me now? Who would protect me? I sat beside him for hours. I did not want to leave. I held his hand one last time. It was cold. Then I woke up. Tears were on my pillow. I ran to my father's room. He was snoring. I hugged him so tight. He woke up. "What happened?" he asked, confused. "Nothing," I said. "I just love you.""