The biggest part of me — April 20th, 2009
”The last time I ever saw my dad was in the hospital, it wasn't really my dad though. He was far gone at that point. He was on the sixteenth floor, and the entire ride on the elevator after I left was the slowest time in my entire life. I remember looking up and it the ceiling of the elevator was mirrors and it made me nautious. I remember that my mom was to the left of me. I remember the exact smell of my dads room, and the exact smell of my hand after holding my dad’s. I hate it.
I hate that I lost the most important person to me at sixteen, that I come home and he's not here anymore. That there's never going to be a hello, never going to be a goodbye, i'll never hear an i love you. It's gone. My dad is now a figment of my memory. Eventually everyone will forget, because that's what we do. we all move on, because we have to. At one point, I might be the only one who remembers him. I remember everything about him. I remember the way he walked and the sound the floor made when he was coming towards my door. I remember the way his voice sounded and the way he laughed. I remember the way his hands looked and his hair curled and every detail of his face. I remember that we used to be so happy. That, at one point, my best friend was always in the same house as me. It’'s been over two months and now he's only in my heart.”