The day Daddy died…

I was sitting in a flat in London Bridge adding subtitles to my documentary. Around 7:30pm, I received a phone call from my Mum saying my dad was really ill and I should see him. She held the phone to his mouth and all I could hear was wheezing. I stood outside my Mum’s door at 9pm but didn’t go in. Instead, I sat in a bar thinking about my dad and reflecting on life. At 10pm, I went inside my house and he smiled when he saw me. I held onto his hand and kissed him on the head with tear drops falling from my face onto his chest. I had never seen him in such a condition before. He wanted to speak but his ability for speech had left him. My mother was holding onto his other hand, helping him say his last words of God. I asked my dad if he would pray for me and he answered, “yes”. My family gathered around his bed for support, waiting for the paramedics to come. My father looked at me, then he looked at my mother and finally he stared to a point above everyone’s head, in the middle of the room and took his last couple of breathes. That’s when we all knew he had seen the Angel of Death. The paramedics started work on him. I kept repeating, “He’s coming back, he’s coming back! He will…!” Around 10:30pm My twin brothers shed a tear, “He’s gone. That’s it. He’s not coming back.” I was mute for 2 days. A month ago today, my father passed away. You should never take parents for granted because you never know when they will leave you and this world for good.

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