On October 2, 2001, I was in my home office when my father rang the doorbell.
It was my mother, who had been in the room for nearly an hour.
It’s not a good feeling, she told me.
It is an excruciating feeling when you hear your father say goodbye and you don’t know what to say.
“Dad, you should call my dad,” she said.
She was just like a mother who’s lost a child.
It felt like an eternity.
As she left the room, my mother was gone.
“You’ve got to do something,” I said to my father.
I thought about calling my mother.
He was a hard worker, a strong man who was the kind of man who would do anything for you.
It happened that the last time my father said goodbye to me, it was the day before he died.
When I left the house, I saw a woman in the street who was wearing an eye patch.
I knew it was my sister.
She walked straight past me, smiled at me and said, “Oh, Dad, what have you been doing?”
I could tell that she was happy to see me.
She had a baby on her head, which she was giving birth to as a baby.
She asked me to give her a hug and told me that my father was in a bad way.
She told me about the ambulance company she worked for, but she didn’t know who my father’s employer was.
I asked my father about the accident and he said he had no idea.
I didn’t have any answers to this, so I asked him if he had any news.
He told me to call my sister, but I could hear her crying in the background.
“He has cancer, isn’t he?” she said to me.
The ambulance company had sent a team to my house that day to collect his ashes.
It seemed like I had to tell my mother everything.
I went to my brother’s house.
I told him about my sister and that I wanted to tell him about this accident.
He came down and asked if I wanted anything from him.
I said, No, I want to tell you everything.
When he arrived, he asked me if I was alright.
He said he needed to ask the ambulance drivers.
I answered his question and told him that my mother had died.
He walked over to my mother and said: “Mom, Mom, I know it’s hard, but please forgive me.”
He hugged me and kissed me and told her that he loved her and she would never forget him.
We both felt very, very, bad.
He kept saying things like, “Thank you, thank you.”
I said that he could go to heaven and that we could see each other again.
I kept telling him that it was really, really, bad and that he needed help.
When my father died, I had no recollection of my father being in the ambulance.
It didn’t occur to me that he would be involved in an accident.
I never really knew him well enough to understand why he would do such a horrible thing.
After my father passed away, my brother was living in New Jersey and my sister lived in Australia.
He didn’t speak much English, but he told me a story about his childhood and how he was very lucky to have such a strong, strong mother.
I was shocked when I heard that story.
I had never seen him cry.
I started asking my sister about her mother and how she felt.
I couldn’t understand why she didn