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.