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Dad
November 06th, 2018
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My dad can't feed himself anymore. I want to scream about that or
cry about it depending on the moment. Instead I sit quietly and
think about him through my life. The good moments come to me. I'm
not sure where the bad ones went, with time.
I remember throwing a ball, playing with a tape recorder, being
chased on a field. I hold strong.
His voice calls my name and I answer, "daddy" and I am six years
old. I am my own son, and I see all our eyes. Then I cry.
I'm not ready for him to go.
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