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I lost my dad on March 21, 2003. He had been sick for a very long time. The history of my dad and me is that I was his buddy. I was the youngest of four girls, no boys. I did everything with my dad. I even worked with dad when I was old enough. Then, I was the one, along with my mother, who cared for my dad when he got sick. My oldest sister came when he got bad the last time. We were the ones who made the heart wrenching decision to stop all means of support for my father. He was on a feeding tube because he had several strokes. He couldn't talk for several years and was totally dependant on others for his care. My sister and I made the decision to bring him home to pass. We had the Hospice people who provide the care in the end. But when the final moment came, it was only my sister, myself and my husband. I thought I was prepared for this, but I was SOOOO wrong. I would trade being with my dad when he breathed his last but now I have the problem with dealing with what happened. I question myself as to whether or not I did the right thing. Was there something else I could have done? I do fine most days but then it hits me like a ton of bricks and I end up sobbing. I miss my dad so very much. And I know that he is in Heaven and I wouldn't want to take him away from that. But some days it is just so hard.

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