I should never have walked through that door.

Yesterday I had a chat with my father. Today is my 16th birthday, and I told him that I wanted to get my motorcycle licence. I wanted to ride a motorbike.

He smiled and said yes.

He knew he was going to die, but I didn’t.

This morning I woke up hearing screams. Then I saw my sister crying. My aunt took my other little sister to her house; she was too young to witness what was happening. Deep inside, I knew what was happening. But for fuck’s sake, it was my birthday, and my father couldn’t die on my birthday. This was not possible.

I was scared so I left my room and walked into the hallway. Then I looked at that door. The door to the room where my father was.

I spent a few seconds asking myself whether I should walk through it. But I couldn’t help myself, and so I did.

I saw my father dying that day. I looked at him and saw him exhaling his last breath. I went over to him. I called his name. I shook him, but he didn’t respond anymore.

Someone took me away from there.

I have an image in front of my eyes, an image that I cannot erase from my memory.

It’s been 33 years, and that image still haunts me. It still hurts.

I should never have walked through that fucking door.