My dad and I.
A different blog post today. This one is very personal. Today, 11th June, marks the four year anniversary of my dad's death. Not a moment goes by where I don't think about him, and every time this day comes around, I cry and cry.
My dad died of a heart attack while still at work on a scaffolding 16ft above the ground. He fell from the scaffolding during the heart attack. If he had survived my dad would have had brain damage. He was only 44. I was only 14. I had came back home from school that day, sitting on the computer and browsing Youtube when I saw my uncle's pale face through the window. I opened the door and heard screaming from my mum. I asked over and over what was wrong until I was told. I broke down. I fell to the floor in tears. The last thing I said to my dad was "good night" before I went to bed.
I'm now 18. I still cry myself to sleep late at night whenever I think about my dad and how much I want him back in my life.
"The world we knew won't come back. The time we've lost can't get back. The life we had won't be ours again.
Maybe we'll turn it around 'cause it's not too late. It's never too late. It's not too late, it's never too late..."