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       Dad
       November 06th, 2018
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       My dad can't feed himself anymore. I want to scream about that or
       cry about it depending on the moment. Instead I sit quietly and
       think about him through my life. The good moments come to me. I'm
       not sure where the bad ones went, with time.
       
       I remember throwing a ball, playing with a tape recorder, being
       chased on a field. I hold strong.
       
       His voice calls my name and I answer, "daddy" and I am six years
       old. I am my own son, and I see all our eyes. Then I cry.
       
       I'm not ready for him to go.