when i was little, mom said you won’t be coming home anymore. she said you found a new home in the stars. i didn’t understand why you went to the stars without me, daddy. you knew how much i wanted to be an astronaut. when i went to school the next day, i told my whole class about how you moved to the stars. my classmates thought it was awesome, my teacher; however, looked quite upset. i didn’t understand then, daddy, but i get it now. she knew the truth, while i was being hidden from reality. it took me years to realize you didn’t actually go to the stars, daddy, and it took me years to comprehend what actually happened to you. what did happen that night, daddy? can you tell me? what was going through your mind that made you think driving without a seat belt was safe? what was going through your mind when you decided to read that text while driving? what was going through your mind when you drifted off the road, daddy? what was going through your mind when you rolled the car, hit a tree, and then was flung from your seat? what was going through your mind as you laid on the ground knowing you were taking your last breaths? did you think about me, daddy? did you think about the things you could have done differently so you could watch me grow up? did you think about how you could have put your phone out of sight, daddy, that way you wouldn’t have been distracted? did you think about how you could have just waited to look at the text instead of reading it right at that moment? did you think about how you could have remembered to buckle your seat belt that night? you would still be with me if you thought of those things before you decided to read that text and drift off the road, daddy. and i don’t expect you to understand, but it’s hard living with the fact that your dad thought that a text was more important than living and watching you grow up. i miss you though, daddy, and i wish you would have thought twice so you could be alive with me today.