My best friend swerved to the right side of the road and as her car was still moving, I fell out and threw up. The dewy grass seeped into my jeans as I knelt on the ground, which felt too real to be a dream. I ripped the grass out of the ground, roots and all, in utter frustration. This wet, slimy grass was a burning reminder that I was indeed awake. I was not sound asleep in my queen-sized bed, under my white Tommy Hilfiger comforter, surrounded by my plush pillows dreaming. I was sitting in my own throw up on the side of the road with mascara running down my face.  I was awake and this was happening.

Exactly 24 hours earlier, my dad was driving me back to my mom’s house.

“Dad, why don’t I drive?” I said, after realizing the condition he was in.

Dodging the underlying question as always, he replied, “I’m fine, how was your day?”

He knew I was mad at him, so he started playing our favorite song, “Sugar” by Maroon 5 and making jokes in attempt to lighten my mood. I could not wait for the car ride to be over. As we pulled up to my mom’s house, he parked the car and got out to hug me and say goodbye until next weekend. This “goodbye” was said every weekend when I returned home to my mom’s house. He would get out of the car, hug me, say “I love you, Clyde” and to which I would reply, “Love you more, and see you next weekend.”

He hopped out of the car and looked me in the eyes: “You know I love you, right?”

“Yeah, see you next weekend.” Little did I know, as I walked up to my porch and slammed my front door behind me, I had made a mistake.

I woke up the next morning with a pit in my stomach. I felt like a movie star who had just thrown a publicized tantrum because of how I treated my dad the night before. I texted him asking if I could see him today, but it was silly of me to text him during the morning because I knew he would be golfing. After a whole day of him not responding, the pit in my stomach grew larger and heavier.

Around 9 P.M., my best friend and I were driving home from seeing a horror movie. Tired and upset about my own father ignoring my text messages, I scrolled through twitter aimlessly, checking what I had missed during the movie. In the bottom right corner I saw I received a message from my cousin:

“Hey. I’m so sorry for your loss. I remember when I was younger and your dad took me to a Pirates game and it was one of the best times I had ever had. I’m here for you if you need me.”

The pit in my stomach no longer existed. It was now a cavernous hole that would never be filled.

My best friend swerved to the right side of the road and as her car was still moving, I fell out and threw up after reading a message about the death of my father.