Some of you this past week have noticed that something was wrong with me. I wasn’t talking or interacting much. And when I was asked if I was ok, I said that “I was just tired”. That was a lie. On May 3, 2022 I received the worst new of my life that night from my Mom that my Dad had a heart attack. He was taken to Northridge hospital and while receiving treatment, he died. My whole world in a matter of seconds disintegrated. I’ve never cried or screamed with so much pain in my entire life. I didn’t know what to do. I still don’t know what to do. Dad, I tried to go see you but they wouldn’t let me. I’m your son and they still wouldn’t let me in. That crushed me. The last time we talked was on the phone last week Thursday and I said some things to you that I shouldn’t have said. And I hung up. I was angry and hurt. What kills me is that our last moment together was us hurting each other. If I had know that was our last time together, I wouldn’t have said what I said. I’ll never forgive myself for that. I have a hole inside of my heart and I can never fill it. I can’t say I’m sorry. I can’t hug you. I can’t say I love you ever again. I can’t look into your eyes. That guilt will live inside of me and I’ll die with it. You didn’t deserve to go out the way you did. We were robbed of time. You died thinking you were a failure of a father. But you weren’t. You did what you could and helped make me the man I am today. It’s the truth. Though we can’t speak in this life time again, I’ll see you in the next and we’ll talk it out. Your dad died before he could see his grandchildren and now you won’t be able to see yours either. I’m afraid to tell them the truth. I’m afraid to recount the past. I’m afraid to be a father myself. I’m afraid to move on without you. People keep telling me to move on but they don’t understand that it’s hard to move on when you can’t tell the person you hurt that you’re sorry. I’ll try to keep moving forward as best I can. I’m sorry I didn’t tell anyone sooner but I didn’t want to accept that my father was gone. I still can’t. I love you, Daddy. Now and forever. ❤️ Alfonso Olvera December 20, 1970 - May 3, 2022