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.

Is he..

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.

Five years.
I wish my sister wouldn’t have cried over the phone today.

I wish my dad would still be alive.