My father died 39 years ago today.
I was 8 years old. He was 36 years old.
He was in the navy and was on sick leave because he'd recently had a heart attack. My mother worked afternoons and evenings.
I came home from school and found him sleeping on the kitchen floor.
I went outside to play, as usual.
When all the other kids were called in for supper, I went in and found him still sleeping on the kitchen floor.
I tried to wake him up ... but he wouldn't wake up.
We lived in an apartment house and I went to Margaret, who lived in another apartment, and told her I couldn't wake up my daddy.
She went down to our place to check it out.
Alas, he never woke up again.