I believed visiting Dad’s grave would help me make peace with the past, but finding a photo of myself on a nearby tombstone sent chills down my spine.
Little did I know that this unsettling discovery would lead me to a life-altering truth about my mother.
It’s been two years since
I lost my father to cancer—two years, four days, and what feels like a lifetime of sorrow.
I vividly recall the day we learned about his stage IV lung cancer.
It was as if the world came to a halt, trapping us in a nightmare from which there was no escape.
Although the doctors immediately started treatment, deep down, we all sensed the battle was lost.
. Dad fought valiantly, but in the end, cancer prevailed.
The news of his passing reached me through a phone call from Mom while I was at home in the city.
Her voice, usually so strong, cracked as she broke the news.
“Penny… he’s gone.”
The memory of that moment is a blur of tears and frantic packing.
