My dad died six months ago. He was only 73. We went to the store for garlic bread, and I waited in the car. He was taking forever. After 10 minutes, I went to check. He had just collapsed and died — a heart attack. It wasn’t supposed to happen, not this soon. It was hell. It’s still hell.
I’m writing this, and I can’t stop crying. I don’t want to believe it. My dad won’t walk me down the aisle, won’t ever dance with me, won’t hug me, won’t call me his pumpkin, won’t hold my k…
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