Disclaimer: This post discusses grief and loss and may evoke strong emotions. Please read with care and prioritize your well-being.

I kissed your head, brushed your hair with my fingers, though trembling. Scared that it would be the last. Terrified of what it meant.

You were gasping for breath, each one broken, growing weaker and weaker. I held your hand, firm yet gentle, as if my touch alone could keep you from slipping away. “It’s okay, Papa. You can rest now.” My voice wavered, but I forced a smile, not wanting my tears to be the last thing you saw.

Though your gaze seemed to pass right through me, as if you were already somewhere else, I still told you to think of happy days, days filled with laughter, with Mama’s voice, with sunlight and warmth. I wanted to believe you could still hear me, that you weren’t too far gone.

But then… the stillness came. The air in the hospital room changed. Your hand, once firm in mine, felt different. And I knew.

I knew my eyes were crying, but no tears were falling. It felt like my heart skipped a beat—and with each passing minute, it died along with you.

I sat there, staring, my heart breaking in ways I didn’t know were possible. Time refused to rewind. My love, my desperate longing, none of it could keep you here.

I wish I could do more to make you stay. But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.

I wwas torn between whys and goodbye. My heart was caught in the space between wanting more time and knowing time had already run out.

You left me with a heartbreaking 30-minute memory of you. One that shattered me, one that I’ll carry for the rest of my life. And now, those last 30 minutes replay in my mind like a cruel, endless loop. I see them in the silence. I feel them in the emptiness you left behind.

But even in its pain, even in its weight, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Because those 30 minutes were mine with you. The last moments where I could hold your hand, whisper your name, and love you as you took your final rest.

I love you, Papa. I love you so much that I would have taken another 30 minutes, just to be with you a little longer. Just to hold on to you for one more breath, one more heartbeat.

All I can do now is carry those minutes with me, no matter how heavy they feel. Because they were the last moments I had with you. And for that, I will always be grateful.

I miss you, Papa!

Love,
Ana 💋