The phone call I had accidentally heard was also from the doctor. Dad had said, “Don’t approach my daughter,” because one of the paramedics wanted to tell me what was going on during the party. Dad was afraid I’d panic.
The reason I had asked myself to sleep near him was painfully simple. I was afraid that his condition would get worse during the night and no one would notice. I wanted him to be close, not to scare me, but so he could ask for help. However, the doctor had not trusted his decision and had sent some health workers to our home.
“I should have told you before,” Dad said, struggling to hold back tears. But no father wants to admit to his daughter that he is afraid too.
I approached and hugged it tightly.
“You always tell me that you don’t have to be ashamed of being afraid. That applies to you, too.
