Today I called my sister
. Her voice sounded a bit more insecure than usual. We talked about our father
. She cried
, I didn’t know how to cheer her up. It felt bad.
It’s been exactly five years now since he died.
Five fucking years.
I still recall the morning he didn’t come home. I was a bit worried, but told myself not to be silly. Everything was gonna be all right.
8 A.M. - Doorbell.
When I opened the door, Sarah told me to sit down. Something terrible had happened. “Your father” she whispered. “He’s been shot.”
I swallowed hard.
“Is he in the hospital?”
She looked away.
“No, Madelon. He’s dead.”
The world collapsed. Everything went black. I still don’t remember what happened the weeks after. Can’t even recall his funeral.
October 6, 1995.
October 6, 2000.
I wish my sister wouldn’t have cried over the phone today.
I wish my dad would still be alive.