It was an average Sunday morning consisting of cartoons, breakfast on the stove, and hot chocolate.

I yelled into the next room, "Dad is breakfast almost ready?"

After no response I yelled again, yet still nothing. I decided to get off the couch, and after that nothing would ever be the same.

As I entered the room my dad stood as though he was the prisoner of Medusa.

He began to shake and his head proceeded to slowly approach the non forgiving marble counter.

I ran to the kitchen and caught him in my arms just before his precious head impacted the counter.

There I sat, a twelve year old boy holding his father in his lap while his father's mouth began to foam.

My father's head sat so perfectly within my lap and I watched my father's soul began to lose touch with reality.

I screeched for help, but no one answered.

How can a boy still trying to master his multiplication table be asked to hold his father in his arms as his breath slowly ceased to exist.

I pushed my ear into his mouth to see if any breath of life was left, I heard nothing.

January 14th, 2009.

11:05am.

Happiness came knocking, no one was home.