I miss my dad.

I woke up sweating on the verge of crying. I dreamt of my dad on assisted breathing with surgery scars crossing his face, jaw and neck, each a testament to an invasive procedure that only stalled the inevitable. He would eventually die to throat and tongue cancer surrounded by the ensnarements of life spent looking over his shoulder. I can still remember his face. I choke every time I think about it. He died in the mid-summer heat as if testifying to those left behind of the flame that would die out with his passing. A piece of everyone present that day died with him. An offering to whatever awaited him to forgive him of his sins and see him finally at rest. I wish there was a thousand words I could say to make him come back. Unfortunately all I have are these few which he'll never read.

Pura Vida, Padre.