I remember that day, how it was a week before my graduation from grade eight. Four days before my trip to Ottawa. Three days before Father's Day.
I remember coming home from school and finding my mom's friend there. A smile on her face, but she was holding something back at the time. I couldn't tell this at the time, I only wondered why my mom wasn't there to meet me.
She drove us to our cottage, where multiple cars were parked. I saw my mom's, my grandparent's, aunts', uncles', friends, and my dad's. They all stood outside the cottage, staring off at the lake. I got out of the car smiling. Though, as soon as my mom hugged me, I knew something was wrong.
My mom told me my dad never came back from kayaking the night before. He had kayaked the three km to my grandparents, stayed there for half the night and then went back kayaking.
My friends and family were there to comfort me, but I felt alone. Trapped inside myself. No one to understand this pain I felt.
While most people spend there summer break care free, I spent mine waiting for my dad to come home. A month later, we got a call saying they found him. I couldn't stop the tears then. I didn't want to.
All I know that as each day goes by, it's one day farther from when I last saw him, but a day closer to when I'll be able to see him again.
A month to find the body. A week before my grad. Four days before my trip. Three days before Father's Day. If you're reading this Dad, I'll see you one day, I promise.