I missed my dad to the point where it was hard to breathe sometimes, and I often felt like I was still in the water with him. At night, I thought a lot about how his hand felt the last time it had touched mine. His grip. His touch. The cold. The slippery feeling as he let go and I was forced to the surface. That was it. He went under and I went up. It wasn’t fair. He was a better person than I could ever be.
