4 years to the day

4 years ago on July 3rd my dad died from a massive heart attack. Even though it was very sad to say the least, God was merciful. He died the way he lived: very fast: no hospital room, no lingering suffering, etc. When it happened I was a part of a writing group and decided to write about his life. I didn't know it at the time but it ended up as a very therapeutic tool for me to work through the grief since none of us ever got to say goodbye (easy on the person, hard on those left behind). With that said I would like to share a piece from my journalistic endeavor. I hope you enjoy it.
"As a child I had an intense fear of the dark, which probably was contributed to some evil cousins, hated by the entire family, who locked me in a closet at a family gathering when I was just barely 8 years old. It was upsetting to me to have such an intense fear that I had no control over but I learned very early how to manage life around my fear. Most neighborhoods in the 50s were constructed with alleys that separated the back yards of the homes. Cars parked mostly in the front of the homes on the street so most of the kids in the neighborhood felt free to wander back and forth across the alley to each other’s back yards. My best friend lived across our alley and down a short hill. During inclement weather we would usually spend the day indoors playing board games, cards, or watching movies on TV. Sometimes I would forget about the time and would suddenly realize that it was getting dark which meant that I needed to get home. Usually I would call home and ask if someone could come outside and stand in the back yard and wave me in. Invariably it was my father who would appear in the back yard waving his hand for me to catch a glimpse of him. He was easy to see with his 6 ft. frame and his large white undershirt. I would run as if my backside were on fire but he would always wait never turning around to soon before going back inside knowing my intense fear would only heighten if he did."