Always

I was an awkward, chubby, nine year old dragging a bag full of clothes in the hospital lobby. I heard Mama’s screams from the end of the hallway. I ran to where you were, the pesky old and heavy bag tangled with my short legs with every other step. I stopped by the door and stared at you. You were looking up at the ceiling. I could see nothing but the white of your eyes and your pale face while Mama screamed at the doctors to do something.  You just laid there as life crept out of you. And I just stared.

It’s been eighteen years. I still can’t forget.

I've lost count how many times I have stared at your picture and begged that you come and get me.  I wanted to be with you again so badly. I still do. I still want you back.

You are missed, Papa. You are loved.  Always.