Last night, I dreamed that my dad died. I didn't know how or why that thought crept into my subconscious as I drift to a deep and restless sleep, but it did. I was just so devastated, I barely can breathe.
My phone rang at 7:30am and it took me a couple of seconds to realize that the noise came from my phone, which was right next to my pillow. I wasn't even half awake when I answered, whispering so I didn't wake Sandra.
"Darling? Are you awake?" I heard the familiar sound of my dad's voice. I only answered with a grunt, but I was so relieved beyond belief.
To those that might have not figured this out yet, I am very much my daddy's girl. And I would trade anything to be with him right now. There's nowhere else I'd rather be than home.
1 year, 6 months, and 2 days
78 weeks
548 days
13,152 hours
789,120 minutes
47,347,200 seconds
... until I get to go home.
78 weeks
548 days
13,152 hours
789,120 minutes
47,347,200 seconds
... until I get to go home.
