I remember the day before. Telling him that he was dying. I prepared myself, but in the end, I couldn’t even say the words. Even now I can’t say the “D” word. I have built myself up enough to say he has passed away. I feel that is enough. I remember the words I chose at his bedside and how determined I was to be strong for him. “You’re not walking out of here this time,” I said. “There’s nothing more they can do.” I remember the look on his face. The way he turned away and stared at the ceiling. He did that a lot here lately whenever he didn’t want to hear what was being said. “Daddy?” He looked at me. “Do you understand?” “Yes.” He mouthed. He now had a trach in place so it was then that I realized I would never get to hear his voice again. “Are you okay?” I asked. ...