It strikes me how ironic the last words I wrote on One Page Per Day are "fatherless children" - painfully ironic. My parents came to visit in February - Clint was going to take my dad to tour the York, but it wasn't meant to be. The night after they arrived we drove down town to see a few things, but in the morning after breakfast my father suffered a stroke and four days later, he passed away. The months since have been so hard, my face is wet even now. This is the first time that I have been able to write about dad passing away without sobbing. He leaves such a vast hole in my life, and an even bigger hole in my mother's. She is hurtting so bad - I feel so helpless. I stayed with her for a couple of months, and hate to have left her - but I guess I am supposed to continue with my life. The hospital days between when my dad fell to my kitchen floor and the last time I kissed his forhead and held his hand were days of transition. First there was hope, we had hope that daddy would recover, maybe he'd have a long road to recovery but we'd be there for him. I hated to think of him in a wheel chair, frustrated that he couldn't hold a cup or do for himself, but I hopped. The first day, a Thursday, he was able to squeeze our hands, and move his right let and arm. By Friday Morning, when my sister and momther went in to see him, he had slipped away. He was on a ventalator, but he was gone - I kept talking to him, telling him how much I loved him and how glad I was that he was my father. My sister and mom and I stayed all night Friday - we talked to daddy and sang songs, well we hummed songs because we forgot the words but we hummed them for daddy. We kept him bundled up because he was always so cold. On Saturday Brittany and Sofia and Dan came - Mom told them to remember there grand dad as he was, not the way he looked in that bed. They all wept, I passed between crying and feeling blessed that he wasn't suffering. The nurse told us the truth - that dad's brain was swelling and becoming more damaged. We watched his heart rate and blood pressures on the monitors. At one point my mom wanted us all to pray that he'd get better - I prayed with her, but I knew it was time to let dad go. I told him that when I was alone - told him it was ok to go. Well, not I am sobbing again - but I guess it is time to start writing my dad's story. In my own words - It was so hard to lose my dad, harder to watch my mom let the man who was by her side for 63 years go. Kristy and I stayed with dad all Saturday night and in the morning Mom, Dan and Clint came to the hospital - we met with the neurologist who said there was no response (I knew this because I was in the room when the nurse said there wasn't any corneal response and that is the last thing to go). We gave the ok to remove the ventolator and when it was done, we went in to say our last goodbye. I am still haunted by the way dad looked when he was gone - I want that image to go away never to cross my mind again. I stayed with Kristy until she could sign all the paperwork and we went home. Mom was sitting with Brittany who just learned her grandpa was gone.

All this months later, I still call for my daddy - I want him to answer me. I love you dad.