My father... my poor father, I remember that sad morning so clearly. I liked waking up very early in the morning with my parents so I could drink coffee, watch the news and read some newspaper. This morning was different, my dad woke up with a bad headache and I remember him sitting down and holding his left leg because it was in excruciating pain. He held my hand as I sat next to him once again, I was confused and had no idea what was going to happen. My mother began to panic unaware of his condition and started looking up his symptoms online, and out of panic she decided to take him to the emergency room. After I was told my father had had a stroke, I could barely see him. I went from having him pick me up from school every day, grocery shopping with him, and my favorite thing being watching scary movies with him, to watching him slowly die in the hospital. My perception of life wasn't all there, I was only eight and I felt like that particular year was a blur, I didn't want to remember anything I had seen. I didn't want to remember my mother throwing up so many times, I didn't want to remember my mother getting a call that my father was bleeding to death because he took a painkiller without knowing he was drawing blood