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Ayla · 11-05-2004, 11:21 PM

I didn't know where to post this....so feel free to move it...

It's been eight years since my Dad passed away. He died of colon cancer when I was 15 years old. My heart still hurts for the hole that been left in my life by his death. I think about him often, but now that I'm getting older it's affecting me even more so. I think about him a lot, and can break into tears at the drop of a hat.

I recently heard a song "In the living years". I think Rod Stewart sings it...but I don't know for sure. Anyway I was driving home from work and it came on the radio and I broke into tears and cried like someone had ripped my leg off and started to beat me with it. Its about someone who lost their dad and has all these things he wishes he could have told him when he was alive. It was like it was written for me.

I was only 15 when he died. During the 6 months of his illness I didn't try to learn all I could about him instead I did everything I could to not think about the fact that he was going to die. I think about the last time I saw him alive and I can see his face just as plainly as if I'm looking at a photograph. I hate that I know so little about my own father and his life until I was born.

I'm 23 now. I was recently married and we're buying a house and talking about starting a family. I can't stand the fact that my children will never know my father, that he will never hold his grandchildren in his arms. They'll never really know what a good man he was. In 100 years, nobody will even remember his name. Even if they happen to chance upon his gravestone, all they'll know his his name and the day he was born into this world and the day he left it. They won't realize what that dash in between the dates mean.

I wasn't home when he died. I wish I had've been. I wish I could've been holding his hand when he left this world. My mom said that when he died he was looking at her and a single tear rolled down his face and he looked past her and smiled....and that was it. He was gone. He had taken his last breath.

I don't understand why that even after 8 years the pain is just as fresh as the day it was we laid him into his grave. I don't want to forget him, but I don't want to have to grieve for him like this everyday either...

11-05-2004, 11:21 PM	#1 (permalink)
Ayla Dedicated Member Join Date: Oct 2004 Location: Alabama Posts: 503	It's been 8 years since he died.... I didn't know where to post this....so feel free to move it... It's been eight years since my Dad passed away. He died of colon cancer when I was 15 years old. My heart still hurts for the hole that been left in my life by his death. I think about him often, but now that I'm getting older it's affecting me even more so. I think about him a lot, and can break into tears at the drop of a hat. I recently heard a song "In the living years". I think Rod Stewart sings it...but I don't know for sure. Anyway I was driving home from work and it came on the radio and I broke into tears and cried like someone had ripped my leg off and started to beat me with it. Its about someone who lost their dad and has all these things he wishes he could have told him when he was alive. It was like it was written for me. I was only 15 when he died. During the 6 months of his illness I didn't try to learn all I could about him instead I did everything I could to not think about the fact that he was going to die. I think about the last time I saw him alive and I can see his face just as plainly as if I'm looking at a photograph. I hate that I know so little about my own father and his life until I was born. I'm 23 now. I was recently married and we're buying a house and talking about starting a family. I can't stand the fact that my children will never know my father, that he will never hold his grandchildren in his arms. They'll never really know what a good man he was. In 100 years, nobody will even remember his name. Even if they happen to chance upon his gravestone, all they'll know his his name and the day he was born into this world and the day he left it. They won't realize what that dash in between the dates mean. I wasn't home when he died. I wish I had've been. I wish I could've been holding his hand when he left this world. My mom said that when he died he was looking at her and a single tear rolled down his face and he looked past her and smiled....and that was it. He was gone. He had taken his last breath. I don't understand why that even after 8 years the pain is just as fresh as the day it was we laid him into his grave. I don't want to forget him, but I don't want to have to grieve for him like this everyday either...