The house that was once filled with yelling, laughter, screaming, praying, and conversation was now silent. There was still furniture, but dirty dishes filled the sink, and clothes were piling up in the laundry room. As I walked through the front door, I started to remember when I would be bombarded with “How was your day?” and hugs and kisses the second I set foot into the house. I smiled as I played out the conversations in my head. My smile quickly faded as the sight of my father sleeping on the couch brought me back to reality. There were bags of half-eaten chips and bottles on the floor. I walked over to my dad and picked up one of the bottles that had spilled on the floor. I stepped back a little when I got closer; my dad reeked of whatever was inside the bottles, mixed with sweat. 

His face was so still while he slept, almost peaceful. I could see the bags under his eyes and the excessive amount of wrinkles forming on his forehead. Seeing him like this made me feel guilty, as if I were the one who made him like the way he is; he wasn’t always this way, though. He was never a super positive, happy person, but he was never a completely depressed alcoholic either. My favorite memory of being with him was when my mom, my sister, and I all went to L.A for the summer. It was fun until my dad caused a whole scene at the airport and made me cry in front of the flight attendant.  

I looked at my phone to check the time, 5:37. I sighed and looked at my dad's still face one more time before waking him up. I nudged his side and watched as his eyes flickered open. I gave him a slight smile, “It’s almost time, Daddy, 30 minutes.” He groaned, and his arms shook as he used all his force to sit himself up on the chair. I picked up the rest of the bottles on the floor and threw them away. 

“So what do you want to eat tonight, baby?” I wanted to grab my dad's words and shove them down his throat. How could he act like nothing was happening, like everything was normal when it wasn’t? I sighed and turned to him, “I’m not sure.” I couldn’t make eye contact with him cause I knew I would cry, not out of sadness but frustration.  

I went upstairs and changed into a pink floral sundress. I looked at myself in the mirror, smoothing out my dress on my body. I looked at my face, wiped away my tears, and gave myself a small smile. I had to be strong; I couldn’t let her know I’ve been crying or that I haven’t been able to sleep thinking about her. I sighed and checked the time, 5:47. 

I walked over to my dad and saw him on his phone, lying on his bed. I wanted to scream or walk into his room, grab his phone, and smash it onto the floor. I took a deep breath and lightly knocked on the door, “Daddy, are you ready?” He sighed and got up, “Let’s go.” He walked down the stairs like he was forced to drive me. I rolled my eyes and followed him down the stairs. I had been preparing myself for the car ride I dreaded the most; it was like I was driving, and my destination was hell. I didn’t know how to act, I didn’t know whether I should cry or scream. I did know that when we slowly started reaching the hospital, I wanted to open the car door and jump out. 

My dad pulled into the parking lot, and my heart was pounding in my chest, begging to be let out. We started walking through the doors of the hospital, and the smell of sanitizer and cleaning supplies hit my face. I walked up to the sweet lady at the front desk and said, “Hello, I’m here to see Nicole Garcia.” She gave me a sympathetic smile and handed me 3 papers, “I’m so sorry for your loss. We need you to fill these papers out before you can see the body.” 

The pounding in my chest stopped, and there were no more sounds of the clicking on the keyboards or the silent whispers in the waiting room. I felt my body freeze up, I clenched my heart as my lungs closed up, and I couldn’t breathe anymore. I saw one of the nurses come up to me, but I couldn’t feel her hand on my shoulder. I saw her mouth moving, but no sound was coming out. As my body hit the floor, I felt like my soul had just escaped from my body.

 I looked down at what was my body, and then up at the nurses trying to shake me awake as if I would wake up. Everything was moving in slow motion, and then I heard a soft, familiar voice behind me. I turned around and, for the first time since I had visited the hospital, I started crying tears of happiness.