I live 8 hours from home. The last time I saw my father alive was Easter morning. The family had gone to church and he stayed at home. We had told him that after mass we would be heading to our home. He went ahead and prepared brunch for us anyway. When we got back from church, my husband decided that we were leaving right away. The last image I have of my dad is the look of deception in his eyes as we were pulling away. I find it hard not to resent my husband for this and reconcile with the fact that was the last time I saw my dear dad alive. My head understands but my heart is crying.