If I could, in this exact second I would. I would run and purposely get lost. And I wouldn't be found until I felt like being found. Until I felt safe again. If you're texting or calling, the honest truth is I don't feel like responding back. I don't feel like explaining this situation for the umpteenth time. I'm tired of this knot in my throat, that forms every time it's brought up. I'm tired of people feeling sorry for him. There's a difference between compassion & just feeling sorry for a person. And I honestly don't feel any fucken sympathy in the room. You're just there because you have to be there, because lets face it, if you're not there, some nasty ass words will travel fast. Maybe I'm just angry with you. Yes you God. I have the feeling the whole fucken world is going downhill. Like really? You start of this year like this? And I know I shouldn't be upset with you but I'm pissed. I want him to get better, I want him to get in my jeep and I want him here, at home where he should be. I don't ask for much, I honestly don't. But I'm asking you tonight. Make him pull through tomorrow and bring him back home. He's weak, the weakest I've ever seen him. And seeing him like that hurts. You might have a father that works full time, maybe puts in a few extra hours, brings a paycheck home and feels like the man of the house, you might go out for dinner once a week or even once a month, take a stroll trough the mall, sit outside and drink a beer with him, and talk nonsense, or he plays with his grandchildren and bbq's for there birthdays, well I didn't get to do none of this with my father and from the way things look, he will never get the opportunity either. Sometimes you have to stop dreaming Perla, you have to face the facts, and realize not everything in this world is fucken peachy. People get sick and they receive there wings to soon. And what can we do? Not a damn thing. I just pray he puts on his cape tomorrow morning, I pray he puts that S on his chest, I pray that he puts up a fight once more, I pray so much that praying isn't praying anymore. It's just Perla sitting on her bed talking to herself. Call me crazy if you want, but I'll make sure my message gets through somehow. And I know you can take it, I'm sure there's plenty more out there that stay angry at you for a while. I know your listening to me, but in case you decide differently, just know that he's trying. He's fighting really hard. Let this surgery be his last one, the last time he has to suffer over this fucken tumor. Please. Please. Please. . . . . .
I love you Dad. I love you more than every grain of salt in the sea. Peace.