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When Are You Coming Home, Dad? (Levi)

Hey dad I was wondering what your last thoughts were? What were your final thoughts as you lived up your final day on that artificial respirator in the ICU of that shitty hospital that we would joke about as we drove by it? What was your final thought about us? Did you wonder if I would graduate on time? Did you wonder what we would do with your belongings? Did you wonder what it would be like for us to cope with this emotional turmoil you put us through? The endless nights of crying just because I knew you weren't in the hospital like the latter days couldn't justify the way we let you go. Sometimes I feel as if I would have given my soul to you just to have you live with us again. Just to be able to have you say my name and ask me about my day because I know for damn sure these voicemails you left me the day of the accident aren't helping. Dad. You won't be there when I get my first acceptance letter to a school of my dreams. You won't be there to listen to me crying about how I'll never see you again. You'll never be there to walk me down the aisle. You'll never be there to be with me again. Dad. Everyone keeps telling me you're watching over me and I want to believe that but why watch over a son who feels like he should've done more to help you with your disease. Why look after someone who is reaping your accident to be financially set for college? Why would you? I wouldn't. Dad, I keep asking myself "when is he coming home?" I set a place for you at the table again on accident and I don't know if I'll ever stop doing that. I filled up your 98 oz. cup full of your favorite soda just to feel close to you again. Dad I keep asking myself why does everything in this tiny 1836 sq ft rental house that you didn't even want remind me of you? The couch still has your same musk and it's been 3 months dad. I look at the place where your accident occurred and I don't know how I can step over it every day with out feeling some sort of emotion. It's as if stepping over you. Who would've thought that the tile had eyes. They tell me you were cremated and that your in this little box but I still can't wrap my head around you being a box of ashes that I can't come home to tell about my new world conquests. They tell me to wear this pendant of your ashes around my neck to feel closer to you but I don't know how to dad because it's only ashes and not the hand that I was raised under. Dad. When are you coming home? When will you come back from the hospital and take me on that camping trip with just us boys that you'd been talking about for years? When will you wake up from your coma and come home I tell myself everyday as I drive by that same old Manila colored hospital we used to make fun of. When you will you acknowledge that the last thing I told you in that coma was about my darkest secret that I thought you'd be afraid of? My inner demon of sexuality that half of our fucking family wants to kill? WHEN WILL YOU SPEAK TO ME AGAIN DAD. WHEN WILL YOU EVER TELL ME IT'LL BE ALRIGHT SON. WHEN WILL YOU TELL ME IT'S GOING TO BE BETTER SOON. When are you coming home, Dad? I miss you...

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