too much too soon

It was the day that I'd always new would come, and somehow could never quite prepare for. I can recall imagining this phone call's reality for years prior - even when I was a kid and Dad was struggling through a fresh heart or other ailment. He could seem so frail when ill - and yet the epitome of strength when well. Strange how that could be. Dad died on December 15th at 5:03 p.m. with his beloved family surrounding his bed. (Perhaps nine of us?) I was hoping for a Spielberg-like viewing of his soul passing before our crying eyes as he transitioned from one dimension to another - but there was none. Instead, there was Dad, seemingly asleep, full of color and hair combed just right, albeit in the ICU unit of a top neuro unit. How could it have come to this? How could my precious, all-powerful, loving Dad now be dying, and dead? I still had so much to tell him, so many things, so many plans yet to make. So many more memories to create. This sucks, I thought to myself. A new day begins - me - without a father. Can I make it? The journey starts now.