My dad died six months ago. He was only 73. We went to the store for garlic bread, and I waited in the car. He was taking forever. After 10 minutes, I went to check. He had just collapsed and died — a heart attack. It wasn’t supposed to happen, not this soon. It was hell. It’s still hell.
I’m writing this, and I can’t stop crying. I don’t want to believe it. My dad won’t walk me down the aisle, won’t ever dance with me, won’t hug me, won’t call me his pumpkin, won’t hold my kids. I’ve never felt this lost.
I know my dad loved me more than anything in the world. I wish I’d told him more often how much I loved him. Dad, if you can hear me, I’ll love you forever.
This will be the first Christmas without him. I miss him so much.
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