As I slept that night I had no idea The Reaper was in my house. I remember locking the doors and windows so I don’t know how he got in. Maybe he slipped through while I wasn’t looking. At this stage of my life, I didn’t believe in Reaper’s so it didn’t occur to me to check if we had one in the house.
So I lay asleep that night, cosy and comfortable in my bed, blissfully unaware there was a Reaper in my home and completely unaware that I had seen my father for the last time.
Several days and nights come and go but I don’t remember them. I can’t remember much of what happened, I will not remember, I don’t remember, I do not want to remember what happened.
So it’s just me now, a wreckage in the modern world. Every and every morning begins with the realisation that he’s gone.
He’ll never be there to watch me become the man I’ll eventually become. He’ll never know me, who I’ll be after I’ve finished growing up.
I’m supposed to say goodbye.
How do you say goodbye?
Do I hold his hands? Do I cuddle him? Do I sit with him and drink a cup of tea? Do I say everything I never did but always wanted to? Do I tell him I love him and I want him back or do I say nothing?
If I never say goodbye, he can’t really be gone.
The Reaper made a mistake.