My dad died when I was 15. He was in to have an operation to reverse one he'd had the year before, which had saved his life (what he had could've killed him within 48 hours). It was the hottest summer on record, and my dad suffered really badly from asthma and blood pressure. We were promised he'd be carefully watched, because the heat and the anxiety could be lethal. However, it turns out that all they'd done for him when he'd complained about feeling the onset of the chest pains was to give him a glass of water. Then, he got out of bed to try to get their attention (they were ignoring the buzzers), and they walked him back to his bed, but he collapsed on the floor before he got there. There wasn't anything they could do after that, and at 5am, my mum woke me up to tell me my daddy was gone.
I'd give anything to have him back. When it comes down to it, how much of a problem is being told "your skirt is too short, go change it right now", or "no, you're NOT going to that party"? All I want is him back to tell me to put a jumper on, or to criticise my driving so much I want to strap him to the exhaust pipe. Once it's gone, it's never coming back. I just wish I'd appreciated it enough when I had the chance.
I love you, Daddy xxx