I apologize for the mistakes, but I used a translator for better grammar..
I consider myself a regular guy, 22 years old, with few hobbies, work, university, and no girl..
My dad died a year ago, he had cancer. Because of the famous covid, he unfortunately couldn’t go for another transplant.. my relationship with him was complicated.. during my childhood, he used to fight with my mom. She used to be mentally at the bottom of it. It usually didn’t go away during the fights.. my brother didn’t deal with it that much since he lived at the dorm more than at home, but it left some scars on me, either in relationships or personal doubts about life…
As time went by, the divorce came, there was a kind of silence, but after a couple of years, our relationship got a little bit better as between father and son.. unfortunately after a lousy year at the first university, it fell to pieces, again and again, it took a couple of months before it somehow came back to the wrong way it was before…
The covid came, my father had problems with vaccinations due to cancer, but it got to him when he caught the covid and had to be in hospital for a month.. he had the worst possible option, and that was pulmonary ventilation.. after a month in the hospital he came back home where he was living and had a hard time absorbing the experience from it.. his health was easy to see even with the naked eye that he was experiencing something that no one wants to share.. 20 pills a day for cancer and corona..
The following month I was always unable to sleep peacefully and would wake up around 3-4 am.. I didn’t understand it then, and i don’t understand it now.. when it was April 2, i would feel some sort of restlessness in the evening but never once woke up during the night, which was strange. The following day I got a call from my brother that my father had died during the night. There was a psychological breakdown… a calm, cold body on the bed with a smile on his face… I don’t wish anyone to experience something like that… the following days were difficult not only for me but for the whole family, but I don’t want to describe it…
According to the death certificate, my father died sometime in the morning between the hours of 2 - 4 at night… the exact time is unfortunately unknown… from that day on, I woke up again for a few months straight at those hours with such a bitter feeling… sometimes I heard some footsteps on the stairs of the house, or even a year after his death, I still hear during the night from the other room the sounds of the bed he used to sleep on…
Since I still live with my mom, who I now help financially, I tend to lock myself in my room at night during the few days she works away from home.. it’s not because I’m afraid of the dark; it’s more because I’m scared of what could happen any night between 2-4.