Just a couple of weeks after my dad's eye surgery, I woke up, went outside on my dad's patio to smoke the first cigarette of the day, and I heard my step mother calling me. She said my dad wasn't moving. I really didn't believe her but took a look anyway. I opened the door to their room, and there he lay, patch over the eye, his jewelry and watch still on but with his skin looking waxy. I instantly knew he was dead because of the way his skin looked. I touched his arm, and it was still warm, but his face was cold. I called 911. After the call and the arrival of the coroner, I went into the living room. The house appeared sunny, smelled better, and a heaviness that had been there was now lifted. The house felt more peaceful. The beauty of that morning was amazing and strange.