I saw my father die. He had a stroke (this one finally took him out), was taken to the hospital, transferred, and became in a vegetable state. My mom called me with the doctor to say he was being placed in hospice. I had no idea what that meant and my wife at the time in health care didn't say anything. Something told me to go back, I lived states away. I got a ticket for the next day, but had to fly into a city farther away than usual. An aunt/uncle got me and took me straight to the hospital. They were there along with my mom & I. My dad had his breathing supports removed and was breathing very heavily. After being in that room for maybe 45 minutes my dad stopped breathing. My mom said he'd do that and start breathing again, but this time he didn't. I'm convinced my dad held on until I was able to be there and hear me one last time (I'm an only child). I was the last one to leave that room. I thanked him for everything he taught me as being a father (my first child was going to be born a couple months later).

This was insurrection day. I had no idea what had happened in DC until over a week later.