My dad was always a very active and energic person. But something changed in him suddenly. My dad started to feel bad a saturday. He said he felt a pain in the chest and measured his blood pressure. It was high on the clouds. But our grandma —my mother's mother— was with us and said to him he should never measure that right after a meal. So he went back to his normal activities. I somehow fekt in that moment that something was not right with him. I felt his normal energy considerably lower. However, I wasn't worried since I saw he was taking care of himself. On Sunday morning he started to feel bad again. He told me he was going with my mom to Emergency. I somehow felt that maybe that'd be the last time I'd see him, so I gave him a warm hug and said goodbye to him. He came back soon enough. He wasn't internalized or something. The hospital just said he was fine. And he said so too. However, that same day he wasn't fine at all. He couldn't even have lunch with us, which by the way I had prepared that day. I played a song wanting to dedicate it to him. However, that song got stuck in my head those days. That same day in the afternoon my aunt came to visit him. She knew things were not right. However, she didn't insist in us to visit the hospital again. On Sunday night I was trying to sleep when I heard soneone go to the kitchen. I went to see who it was. It was my dad. He couldn't sleep. He told me maybe he had anxiety, or something heart-related. So I sent him things that I knew could help him with anxiety and coronary issues. That night we stood together for a little while and he was trying to relax breathing in a deep way and hearing the heart audio very loudly. I told him to breathe normally. That night I felt a little off because there were sounds outside that sounded like an irregular heartbeat, and I hoped that didn't affect my dad. On Monday I realized my dad didn't sleep at all. That got me really worried. He went to see the cardiologist with my mom. They've been there for two hours or more. My dad just wanted to sleep. He had lunch with us. However, he ate considerably less than usual. He even shared a lot from his dish. I remember my brother cooked that day, and the meat was very salty. My dad slept in the afternoon, and I saw him again for tea time. He had taken domperidone, since the doctors had said he had reflux issues, instead of heart issues. He sat on the chair. I was going to the kitchen. I saw him breathe intensely rapid, and he started to fall reaaaaally slowly. At first I saw it as a joke. I tjought he was acting. But then I realized thus was for real—he was having a heart attack. Mom reanimated him miraculously and we sent him to the hospital. They operated him and had him in Intense Therapy. My mom and my aunt went to visit him all the time. He didn't make it to the second day in I.T. though, and died with a weakened heart. I am so sad to write about this. I just knew something was not right with him, but I hoped he would get through this. But he didn't. It breaks my heart to just think about this events in great detail. To think of how bad he was. I feel awful.
