Sometimes, second chances just doesn't exist. And I'm constantly reminded of how I dealt with the first.

Ever since you left, the once dull mornings had turned into such surprises to me.

Just when I was about to step out of our room, Erik walked past right in front of me. When he realized I was there, he froze in his tracks. And so did I.

He had never woken up this early before, even for work.

But it wasn't just because of that I was shocked about.

It was when our eyes had met; when he flinched and looked away like a child guilty of stealing candies. I knew from my instincts that something was wrong; I was, after all, his father for twenty three years now. The muddle of sadness and pain in his eyes was something I didn't miss, either.

"I'm leaving," as though realizing I was about to ask questions he didn't want to answer, Erik spoke and broke the awkward silence that was starting to itch closer towards us. "...for work." He ended weakly. 

Isn't it too early? The question sprang into my mind, desperately wanted to jump out of my lips, but I swallowed it down.

He wouldn't tell me, if he chose to lie in the first place. "Okay."

Without another word from him, he left just like the breeze -gone without a trace.

I stood there, dwelling in the reason why Erik had acted colder than his usual cool demeanor, until a voice pierced through the silence and pulled me out of my thoughts.

"Dad?" Alicia stood in front of me, just a head shorter. Her dark hair swayed a little, as she looked up at me with her ocean blue eyes.

And instantly, I fell back into my world of memories; a world I wasn't sure if I liked it or not. Because I could find you everywhere, even if I chose to hide. Just like the sun, perhaps.

Alicia really looked like you. Except your eyes carried a different, one of a kind softness and beauty, and were a darker shade of blue- azure -that seemed to have gold flecks in them. It was one of the things that I could remember vividly about you.

But they had dulled over the years, and so had my memories of them.

"Will you be alright? Alone and all that..." She trailed off and from the tone of her voice, I knew she was worried.

"I'll be fine. Really." I gave her a reassuring smile.

She was wrong though. I wasn't alone. I still had you.

Her eyes stayed on me, long and sad, as they soon glazed over. She must be recalling what had happened.

"Alicia?"

"Oh." She blinked. "Alright. Be careful, dad."

And with one last look, she turned and left. This time, it felt more like a tranquil rain -- gentler and not without a trace. Her concern was left behind.

The wooden door closed with a small thud sound.

I never knew a morning could let me witness so many emotions. Just one morning and I had come to understood one thing -we were all still holding on tightly to the past.

Or maybe we just couldn't let go.

Because it was holding on to us instead, dragging us down into this endless loop of guilt and pain.

~

It was almost noon when I noticed that you went into our room to get a coat. I was taken aback because it was something different than your usual routine. You walked towards the living room and swiped your hand across the coffee table, where the keys were always placed at.

Were you going out?

I changed my clothes in a hurry and intended to follow you out. You were standing by the door, crouching down by the time I was ready. When you stood up, I was right beside you.

But instead of turning the door knob, you turned back with uncertainty and panic written across your face. I snapped my head at the direction you dashed at.

The kitchen.

You stopped just in front of the stove and fumbled with the burner dial. It seemed that you had forgotten to turn them off.

Pain slithered up and coiled around my heart, tightening but hadn't sank its fangs.

It was your dementia.

Always forgetting about the simplest things.

Was your spirit from three years ago? Your dementia symptoms were showing already.

I watched as you paced back and forth the house, checking for other electric appliances, whether they had been switched off or not.

Not just once, but thrice.

As you walked from the kitchen to our room and stopping halfway only to go back to the kitchen, my heart was wrung and torn to pieces.

At this time, a memory- one I had hoped it would have been buried along with you -- resurfaced.

A memory of you; so far ago, but still haunting me as though it was right around me all along.

~

It was one Friday night, three years back. I wasn't sure why you chose that time to tell me, and I still didn't know.

"Dementia?" I paused, looking up from the sports magazine I was reading. "You mean...the disease that aged people have?"

We were both on the bed, ready to go to sleep soon when you suddenly brought the topic up, while holding a medical report. I wasn't giving you all the attention I was supposed to, but I thought it was sufficient, because it wasn't anything important.

It was just you.

And I was tired. From work and from you, too. 

You nodded slowly before continuing, "The neurologist said this is why I'm forgetting things so often and my hearing had gone bad." 

"When did you go for the check up?" My eyes were back to the magazine, although my brain wasn't really processing the content. 

"...A few days ago." Your voice was really soft, and I caught the tinge of sadness in it. But I overlooked it. I always did. 

I didn't reply as I took in the piece of information. 

It wasn't that I had no questions; I just didn't feel like asking. 

I knew I should, but I didn't want to. It was more of a responsibility than desire to care. And I was too tired to care anymore.

'Only today. Just one day. Can't I live for just one day without having to feel fussed and burdened about you?' 

I closed the magazine and kept it away in the drawer. When I looked back, you were flipping through your report with a blank face. I was familiar with it. You often showed it when you were dazed.

I held back a sigh, knowing my inner outburst was unheard and I had to do something. 

"Is it bad?" I asked. 

"The doctor said it might last for a lifetime." You stared intently at the report like the words would disappear if you stare hard enough.

I didn't know why or how, as a voice rang inside of me; a voice I should have known long ago to not listen to.

'Let's just leave it for another time. There will always be time. Next time.'

I hummed a response. "Let's talk again tomorrow. I'm tired." Before you could even reply, I turned around and closed my eyes, not knowing that the tomorrow would never come. 

The voice rang again. Louder this time, and my brief insecurity was soothed by it. 

'There will always be time.' 

Always.

~

That was when you started to forget about the simplest things and even important incidents and dates.

Now that I think back, it wasn't because of exhaustion.

I was condemning you then.

It was hard taking care of you. And we got frustrated, yet we couldn't place our blames on anything. But then, you told me you had dementia. And I started thinking it was your fault. It had come to me so naturally, I didn't even doubt it.

I didn't know what came to me that I was actually able to turn a blind eye at how obviously disheartened you were, and how you desperately needed comfort. You were willing to shed your defenses -naked and vulnerable- and told me about your fear.

You came to me.

I pushed you away.

And I decided it was your fault, using just words to pierce through your bare body till it bled.

Yet, I didn't notice anything.

I was wrong.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

How could it had been your fault?

Just why did I think so?

Why didn't I reach out when you needed me?

I snapped back into reality just to find you not around.

I became frantic as I was filled with thoughts that you were gone, forever.

Without another moment of hesitation, I ran out of the house.

I couldn't wait or hesitate. I did that too much already. There will never be a next time, later or tomorrow.

I needed to reach out now.

A second chance. I had to grasp it tight. I needed to grasp you tight.

But I was scared.

What if you decided to be the one to take away my second chance?

Will you still be there for me?