Before this, I was happy.
My father's wishes mattered. We wanted those wishes heard and respected.
We always said we were fighting for what he wanted, not what we wanted. Anyone who knew him understood how strong-willed he was. He would never have allowed us to fight for something he did not want.
We were his voice.
What happened has had a lasting effect on my health.
I am not doing this because I enjoy it. This is the least enjoyable thing I have ever done. For years, I have spent countless hours reading records, comparing entries, reconstructing timelines, and repeatedly reliving the most traumatic experience of my life. My health has suffered. This is the last thing I want to be doing.
But I will not go away.
I will not allow my father's life to be reduced to paperwork and unanswered questions.
What frightens me beyond my own experience is this question: how does someone navigate a process like this without anyone there to help them question an explanation or pursue an answer?
I hope that question is taken seriously.
I am still here because my father no longer can be.
Still seeking answers.
Still demanding accountability.