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I remember the day you died, Dad. It was March 7th, 2010. 6 a.m., I woke up to Mom crying. "Momma, what's wrong?" I asked, hoping she hurt her finger instead of something big. But, the words that came next hit me like a slap in the face. "Honey, Daddy died last night. His truck rolled over." I was going to say "What a sick joke, Momma" but I heard talking out in our living room. I walked out there quietly, seeing my grandparents, and my aunt out there. "Your uncle is out in the car," my aunt said, sniffling. It's all too real, I thought. Too real. I walked outside, no shoes, in pajamas. It's what happens in my town. So no one tried to stop me. I heard a car squeal up in our driveway. Our family friend hopped out and was crying hard. He went to my mom to talk, and I grabbed a stick. My driveway is dirt, so I wrote "Good Bye, Daddy" in the sand.
A bunch of friends and family came, Dad. I didn't get up to say hi, I sat and watched TV. No one questioned me. I didn't shed one tear for half a year. One day, in school, I started crying on the playground. I just sank to my knees, screaming words no one could understand. I just sat there, drowning in tears. My teacher walked over and sat with me. She had another teacher take over for her. She sat with me while I cried out all of my pain, loss, and grieve.
I guess what I'm trying to say, Dad, is that I haven't forgotten about you. I never have, and never will. I'm in high school. YOUR high school, Dad. They know me there, and Grandpa too. I just wanted to say:
I remember you.
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