#fatherless

Tim Drake/Robin DC Collage ❤️

ive asked about my dad before but mom doesnt like talking about him. she really doesnt like to talk about anyone shes known. she never talks about my dad or her parents or her uncle or her cousins...

Im sorry for not saying goodbye. It was 6:00 or something around that. You were in your bed. The sun rising. They played classical music. A godly moment. I am not religious but i got it, i got it at that moment. They had removed your tubes. Nothing for your kidneys, nothing for your heart, nothing for your blood. You would surly die soon. You only had a drip of painkillers. You'd die without pain, or so i was told. I knew you were my father, but you looked like a patient in the skin of my father.

You were there, dying. A machine breathing for you. They said that would keep breathig after you died. A machine would keep pushing your chest out with oxygen, even after it was no longer filled with the gift of life.

I knew that under your blanket you were open. Your chest, lungs, heart, intestines, stomach, liver, everything. Exposed. Out in the open. I say in that room, an early tuesday morning, in that hospital room, watching someone that wore the face of my father die.

I had to get out. I left, to the familly room, where i threw up in the toilet. I layed down on the couch and waited. Nothing to do. Just wait. Until, 7:10, and exact time, so like you, you passed. I got to visit you. I set one step into that room and i knew it was wrong. You werent my father, the man that raised me. You were a skeleton wearing my dads skin. I saw your skull through the shape of your flesh. Your blood pooled down, and your muscles relaxed- dead.

Who ever said dead people look like they are sleeping is dead wrong. Dead people look like skeletons in a flesh suit.