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Description
When I was little, we would drive in the country side on nice days, when the clouds were sailing lightly on the spring winds. I remember sometimes I would see clouds partially covering the sun, but just enough that a few rays of the sun could stretch its warmth onto the acres of farmland and trees we drove by. I used to be mesmirized by these rays of how beautiful they were. I remember believing to myself, that whenever a ray of sunshine makes its way out of the clouds and onto the earth, it meant that God was taking someone up to heaven to live with him. Then again, I had such the imagination as a young child.
    It wasn't until I turned eight years old, that my view on life changed dramatically. By my eighth birthday, my father was frequently in and out of the hospital. When he was home, he had a large box with a long tube that attached from one end of the box into the nostrils of my father's nose. It made a loud ticking noise that taunted me everytime I saw it. It teased me, almost as if it told me with every tick, "Your daddy is sick! Your daddy is sick!" My dad couldn't be anywhere without an oxygen tank. I even remember him trudging a portable tank of it to Walmart one day, because he insisted on joining us to shop instead of resting at home.
   At one point, I can't remember when it was exactly, he got better for a little bit. He was off the oxygen tanks and was even looking healthier! He decided one day during his peek of health, that he would take me flying.
   My dad was a private pilot. He had his very own cessna-150, and before he got sick I was the only one who did not get to have a flight with him. He finally decided that he would take me. That ride in the airplane was one of the best days of my life. When I saw how tiny the earth was from way up high, I wanted to go higher. Higher and higher and never come down. But unfortunately, all good things must come to an end as they say. His good health eventually went as well.
   I remember his very last night at home. It was late, and he had just tucked me in my bed across the hallway from mom and dad's room. I was beginning to fall asleep, when all of a sudden, I heard a series of uncontrollable, sharp coughs. They didn't stop. A few minutes later a couple of men arrived in an ambulance to pick up my father and rush him back to the hospital.
   A week, a month, six months...I don't remember how long he stayed in the hospital. He was never awake. Always asleep with all the drugs they made him take. I remember him awake once, but he was so drugged that he could barely form a smile on his lips. Eventually, his heart and lungs gave out, and he left behind a loving wife, a son, and two daughters.
   The funeral was in the church that I grew up in. Such a cheery place was now laced with black and mourning. I clutched my favourite teddy bear "Sandy" through the whole service and bit back all my bitter tears.
   When we drove home from the cemetary later that day, it was a little sunny. The clouds occasionally hid the sun from my view as I looked out the window, teary eyed. The next thing I remembered was seeing a ray of sunshine hitting the ground close to the cemetary; a beautiful, warm, glowing beam of sunlight. Right then I thought to myself, "Daddy is going to heaven now."

Description
When I was little, we would drive in the country side on nice days, when the clouds were sailing lightly on the spring winds. I remember sometimes I would see clouds partially covering the sun, but just enough that a few rays of the sun could stretch its warmth onto the acres of farmland and trees we drove by. I used to be mesmirized by these rays of how beautiful they were. I remember believing to myself, that whenever a ray of sunshine makes its way out of the clouds and onto the earth, it meant that God was taking someone up to heaven to live with him. Then again, I had such the imagination as a young child.
    It wasn't until I turned eight years old, that my view on life changed dramatically. By my eighth birthday, my father was frequently in and out of the hospital. When he was home, he had a large box with a long tube that attached from one end of the box into the nostrils of my father's nose. It made a loud ticking noise that taunted me everytime I saw it. It teased me, almost as if it told me with every tick, "Your daddy is sick! Your daddy is sick!" My dad couldn't be anywhere without an oxygen tank. I even remember him trudging a portable tank of it to Walmart one day, because he insisted on joining us to shop instead of resting at home.
   At one point, I can't remember when it was exactly, he got better for a little bit. He was off the oxygen tanks and was even looking healthier! He decided one day during his peek of health, that he would take me flying.
   My dad was a private pilot. He had his very own cessna-150, and before he got sick I was the only one who did not get to have a flight with him. He finally decided that he would take me. That ride in the airplane was one of the best days of my life. When I saw how tiny the earth was from way up high, I wanted to go higher. Higher and higher and never come down. But unfortunately, all good things must come to an end as they say. His good health eventually went as well.
   I remember his very last night at home. It was late, and he had just tucked me in my bed across the hallway from mom and dad's room. I was beginning to fall asleep, when all of a sudden, I heard a series of uncontrollable, sharp coughs. They didn't stop. A few minutes later a couple of men arrived in an ambulance to pick up my father and rush him back to the hospital.
   A week, a month, six months...I don't remember how long he stayed in the hospital. He was never awake. Always asleep with all the drugs they made him take. I remember him awake once, but he was so drugged that he could barely form a smile on his lips. Eventually, his heart and lungs gave out, and he left behind a loving wife, a son, and two daughters.
   The funeral was in the church that I grew up in. Such a cheery place was now laced with black and mourning. I clutched my favourite teddy bear "Sandy" through the whole service and bit back all my bitter tears.
   When we drove home from the cemetary later that day, it was a little sunny. The clouds occasionally hid the sun from my view as I looked out the window, teary eyed. The next thing I remembered was seeing a ray of sunshine hitting the ground close to the cemetary; a beautiful, warm, glowing beam of sunlight. Right then I thought to myself, "Daddy is going to heaven now."