Diary Entry - November 18, 2019

I’m sitting here in the hospital waiting room. It smells like antiseptic and the fluorescent lights buzz above my head. It’s so quiet, except for the ticking of the clock in the wall. I keep checking it, even though I know the time doesn’t matter. Time stopped the moment I heard the words “car crash”.

Mom’s sitting across from me, but she’s not really here. She’s staring at the floor, tears in her eyes, but she’s not crying. I think she’s holding it in for me, but I just want her to let go. We should be crying together.

I kept thing about Dad. The way he always smelled like motor oil and dirt after work, how he used to laugh when I’d ask him to fix my bike. I can’t stop imagining what happened, what it must have felt like when the car hit him. I know he was always careful, always making sure the cars were safe, and now—he’s the one in danger. It’s so unfair. How can someone who fixed cars for a living be taken out by one?

I haven’t heard anything from the doctors yet. My hands are shaking, and I keep rubbing them together, trying to make the nervous energy go away. They said he was alive when they brought him in, but I don’t know what that means. Alive is different than okay.

Every minute feels like an hour. Every sound makes me jump. I just want to see him. I need him to be okay. But no one is telling me anything, and it’s like I’m stuck here in this waiting room, waiting for the worst.

Please, Dad. Please be okay.

Diary Entry - November 25, 2019

It’s 3:42am and I still can’t sleep. I’ve been lying in bed for hours, my mind racing through the same thoughts over and over. The clock on my wall keeps ticking, like a countdown I can’t escape from.

A week has passed since the accident, but it still doesn’t feel real. I keep expecting to wake up from this nightmare, expecting Dad to walk through the door with that greasy smile on his face, telling me everything’s going to be fine. But he’s not coming home. The room still smells like antiseptic, even though I’m miles away from the hospital now. The silence at home is deafening. Mom’s barely spoken since the night he was brought in, and when she does, it’s like she’s talking to someone else. Sometimes I think she’s forgotten how to talk to me.

I keep thinking about the day we got the call. It felt like the whole world froze in that moment. Everything after it has just been a blur—doctors, paperwork, endless waiting. The day we found out he was gone is still so vivid in my mind, like it happened an hour ago. I’ve never felt more lost in my life. There’s this weight on my chest that won’t go away, and nothing I do makes it lighter.

I feel like I should be stronger, but im not. I’m so tired of crying but I don’t know how to stop. I want to scream, to break something, anything to release this pressure inside me. But all I can do is lay here, staring at the ceiling, wishing I could turn back time.

I miss him. I miss him so much.

Maybe I’ll try to sleep again. Maybe tomorrow will feel a little less empty. But right now, it’s hard to believe it ever will.

Diary Entry - December 18, 2019

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**** It been a month since the worst day of my life. A month since the accident. I don’t even know what to say anymore. It feels like I’m losing pieces of myself everyday, but somehow I keep going. I have to.

Mom got a job at the diner last week. She says it’s just temporary, just until we can figure things out. But I can see how tired she is. I know she doesn’t want to be gone all day but she has no choice. We need the money. I can’t even remember we sat down for dinner together—just the two of us. Now it’s always me, picking at whatever’s in the fridge, trying not to think about how empty the house feels without Dad.

She used to be the one who stayed at home, who made sure everything was in place, who held it all together. Now she’s always on the phone, always checking the clock, rushing out the door before I even get up. It feels like the world has turned upside down, and I’m just waiting for it to right itself. But I’m starting to think it never will.

The truth is starting to sink in, I think it’s finally hitting me that he’s gone. I keep expecting him to walk through the door, to hear him yell from the garage, telling me to get out of the way while he fixes something. But nothing’s the same anymore. It’s like the life we had just vanished with him.

I try to pretend it’s okay. I tell myself that Mom’s just tired, that things will get better. But I don’t think they will. At least not in the way they used to be.

I miss him. So much.

And I don’t know how to fix this.