The story his mom told me was gut wrenching, knife piercing. A little boy... not being able to wake his dad up. And when the paramedics arrived... found him lying in bed with dad who was permanently asleep.
Friday after school... was hanging out with the kids. He comes over... grabs my hand and says, "You're my daddy. You're my daddy now." What was I suppose to do...or say?
Saturday, ironically, I had the distinct honor to translate at a Memorial Service again -- translating a eulogy or a personal sharing from the first-person. Every time I do this... I'm an emotional wreck.
But before I had time to marinate... I picked dad up from BART... and hurried to "his" soccer tournament. Got there just in time for the 2nd half. A parent organized it so his entire class can be there to cheer him on. SW wanted to be there. Joyce... not so much. She didn't want NN to break down in public.
At night... went to dinner at a burger place. And they were showing the Giants/Patriots super bowl on their big screen TV's. I look up.... and all of a sudden... I see the infamous KC 3rd and 15. I quickly grabbed my napkin wrapped utensils and wanted to break them in half. I didn't even say anything... my expression said it all. Dad quickly said, "Stop watching." Big bro said, "Let's switch seats."
Ugh..... knife piercing. Gut wrenching.
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