There are certain days of the year that everyone remembers, the hour by hour moments as if they happened yesterday just like a vivid dream.

Today marks one of them.

For me, it’s almost the whole month that I remember.

I just finishing up my first semester my Senior year at KSU. It was in the early afternoon at work when I had received a phone call at work about my mom taking my dad to the emergency room. Fast forward that day and I am in a conference call going over a class project that we were finishing up, as I am heading to my hometown. During finals week, I spent in the hospital taking three of four finals online. The fourth class was the only one that was in a class setting. I had communicated with the processor via email about what had happened.

To some, he may seem to have been a jerk for doing this, but during the holiday break he was going out of the country. Though he understood the situation, there wasn’t much that he could do for making up the final if I wasn’t there. I understood the situation and I wasn’t going to take another class over again, not this close. My last semester, I had it planned for six classes, major classes mixed in with freshman classes. I wasn’t going to let the last semester end with seven.

I remember being in the hospital and telling my parents that I had to go back to Atlanta to take one final. By the look on her eyes, I could tell that she didn’t want me to leave. English is her second language and she wanted someone else to be there in case a doctor or nurse came by. My dad wasn’t there mentally and even so, he would have been his normal stubborn self and a nurse or doctor to go away. No matter what that is just him.

Dad was transferred to a larger hospital for the next several weeks. Without getting into the details, he was finally diagnosed with his causes. It wasn’t good news. The next phase was what to do next. There were options locally, but they weren’t the best option. If we went with that route, it would be my mom that I would worry about. All dad wanted to do was just go home. “I want to go home. I want to go home,” he kept repeating.

“I know, dad. But that isn’t an option.” For once I felt as if I were the parent scolding my child as he turned in the hospital.