The day had started of like every other.
You woke up, had coffee, made me breakfast.
Mom had told you to see the doctor,
her gut felt it.
I was only eleven when you had to go.
I was in a room with five other people.
I didn’t even understand what was going on.
I didn’t know who that tall man in the corner was.
Everyone was confused, but then reality had set in.

When we walked back to your hospital bed, I expected to see your smile.
That smile was not there as I entered the door.
All of your clothes were in a bag on the floor.
I looked up at the screen and saw the flat line.
The sound was off, but i could hear it loud and clear.
The tears came rushing as I reached for you.
However you couldn’t grab me too.

As I walked to your closet I grabbed your favorite shirt.
I wore it and felt comforted.
Sometimes I believed it wasn’t true.
I had faith I’d see you the next day.

I began to close in on myself.
I began to shut everyone out.
To me no one understood.
To me, I was all alone.

All in one day, my life changed forever.

“Daddy loves you, be a good girl” were the last words you said.
I hear it on repeat in my head.
I wish I could hear it in your tone.
Luckily, you left voicemails on moms phone.

The pain comes and goes,
but it’s never really gone.
I have sleepless nights thinking of you.
Tears like a waterfall rushing down my face.
I ask a friend what to do.
Everyone always says it will be fine.
I feel like asking wasted my time.
I hate to be a burden, but I have feelings.
I want this pain to leave.

Mom has her phone by her side because she missed seven calls about you.
She's broken and tries to hide it.
I try to be what she needs,
but you’re truly what she needs.

I see your friends and they say you were great,
even though you loved to debate.
Often I look to God and ask for one more day.
I love you would be all I say.

I fear I’ll walk the aisle alone.
I fear I’ll forget the little things about you.
But, what I fear most is that one day my kids won’t know you.

I wish for one more day with you.