1:26 AM

My father is dying. And I'm lying in bed, thinking about how it will be the day I wake up and he is not there. And I'm wondering if the memories that I have in my head are enough. Because I can't remember a lot of things. And the things I remember most are not things that should be lasting memories. I haven't spoken to him for almost a month. And I remember when he was in the hospital and I lay curled up beside him in the bed for hours. And I remember, when they sent him to ICU, how I couldn't stay in the waiting room, I had to leave to find a quiet place to cry and cry, because my heart was breaking, and I cried into the emptiness of a cold stone stairwell, because there was no other place I could be alone.