it still hurts

I don't know if this is appropriate for a public forum, but I have to get it out there.

I've never had such a searingly painful memory. My stomach is on fire and my heart feels like a huge paper hole puncher has done its job.

I was so tired and my body hurt the way it does when all you want to do is sleep but something too important is sitting right in front of you. My dad's numbers were bad and the nurses said that, for the first time, there was nothing more they could do. We all hovered and prayed silently. We hugged and squeezed each other and his hands. He didn't squeeze back and he didn't try to open his eyes. We rotated who got to sit next to him as the moments ticked on slowly slowly slowly. I was standing by my brother off to the side when his numbers started to plummet fiercly. And all of a sudden, there were flat lines and zeros and my brother and I were sobbing into each other. I've never seen anyone die before, and I always wondered what it was like. I never knew it would be my dad, I never knew he would be the one to die right in front of me.

I feel physically sick and mentally ambushed and spiritually drained. The lump in my throat doesn't seem to go away sometimes, but it isn't often that I can actually get the tears to come out. It's like there is some plug that I can't find, my drains are clogged and I can't cry. I really want to cry for a long time, but I can't for some reason.

I really miss my dad. For all the crap he and I had to sort through, we were finally friends again and spending a lot of time talking and planning to do things together soon. He was such a good dad. Such a good dad. And he loved me and I loved him, and my mind doesn't understand "for the rest of my life" anymore. I don't get that he is gone, and when the phone rings I still hope it's him. I still actually THINK that it might be him. Most days it just feels like a day when I haven't talked to my dad in a while, but the difference is that I can't go pick up the phone and call him. His number got disconnected today anyway.

He was the one I could tell my stories to. I have a really amazing story to tell him. A secret. (no, you can't know yet so don't even ask me) But I can't tell him.

I don't think God will tell him for me. Because I am under the impression that we all sleep until the end of the world. I don't know one way or another, and it probably doesn't matter, either. But telling God to tell my dad something for me makes me feel like I'm making God's number one priority into being my postman. I don't like that very much. The only comfort is that one day we'll BOTH be in heaven. But it only comforts me for a couple of seconds.