Dad...

I woke up with a terrible headache, sat on the bed momentarily and stared into blank space.
The dream was too intense, too real, or so it seemed. More real than real life, more real than what I had experienced.

Dad was in bed, obviously in pain, obviously suffering, obviously dying. His face was contorted in agony, with tears running down his cheeks. I held onto his hands, embraced his whole body and tried very, very hard not to cry, not to make things even more difficult for him. But it was hard not to cry, and I could see my own tears drip down and soak his clothes.

I don't remember what was said, if anything. All I can recall is the sadness, the utter and oppressive sadness that hung in the air. A dense, thick feeling of unwillingness to let go, unpreparedness to leave as if there were unfinished business that needed tending to. I felt the warmth of his body, his bony fingers, and looked into his deep, dark eyes...