I dunno, maybe I'll revive this account. I'm genuinely considering it.

But that's not what I'm here for, as I'm sure the title made you aware of. I have some baggage to ramble about...

My dad passed away a month ago. If you've read my past rants you'd think that's a great thing! Hell, I used to genuinely believe I'd celebrate my dad's death because I didn't think he had any redeeming qualities.

Instead... I've been crying. Hell, sometimes I still randomly find myself crying for no real reason.

I was there on the day my dad died. My sister and I were both there. She was about to take a nap and I was texting my boyfriend when we suddenly heard a thud. It sounded kind of weird to both of us, so my sister decided to check it out. When she went into our dad's room and didn't immediately come out, I started creeping in too.

"Is he okay?"

"Dude, call 911. He's not breathing."

I immediately called 911 and told them what was happening, and they instructed us to start doing CPR. My sister and I had to swap out when we got tired, and the entire time all I could think about was that I needed to see my dad move or respond.. or just do anything.

I don't know what the noises really came from, but I'll never forget them. They sounded like groans and chokes, and they still haunt me to this day. They play in my head over and over. I still wonder if it was just the CPR or if he was trying to breathe... or if he was already dead and it was some kind of spasm.

When the ambulance showed up, they tried everything they could. I honestly couldn't tell you all the medical equipment they'd used. But no matter what they did, there was never a single heartbeat. Never a single breath from him. After he collapsed, he never woke up.

My dad was pronounced dead not much later.

Several people came to my house that night. Firemen, the coroner, the sheriff... God knows who else. They all asked us what happened, our dad's information like his name and birthday, and they wanted our names and contact information.

Before my dad was placed in a body bag, I chose to see his body one last time. I was worried that the last time I'd be able to see him would've been him on the floor with his eyes half closed and mouth and fingertips blue, and I didn't want that to be my last memory of him.

He was bloody from the CPR and his shirt had been crudely cut open and there were tubes in his mouth, but it was still an infinitely better look than him on the floor, nobody knowing if he was even conscious. His forehead was still warm when I touched it.

The last time I saw my dad's body was at the funeral home before he was cremated. His body had been cleaned up and he was wearing what I assumed to be some kind of standard issue gown from the funeral home. Me and my remaining family said a prayer and mourned together, and we took turns saying our final goodbyes to my dad. That was the first and last time in years that I told my dad I loved him.

Life is never going to be the same again. All I can hope for now is that some day my wounds will heal.