He indeed made it through the night, but he ceased to keep on living that morning. My youngest sister was standing over him, and that was because he had passed silently through the night.
I really didn't know how to feel. Of course, I shed a couple of tears, but after that, I couldn't. I remember standing on my deck, looking out at the rising sun and shedding tears, and I saw this old man, doing his morning run, and I realised that no matter what, life goes on. With that new attitude, I stopped the tears and continued on with my day, greeting grievers, making food for grievers and family, cleaning, making sure my sisters were all ok and escaping.
It's not like I'm cold, because I'm not, and I surely don't have the emotional range as a grain of salt, but showing any sign of weakness has never been big to me. I couldn't break down in front of people, so I acted nonchalant about the whole ordeal. Did I get a few odd looks and odd conversations? Of course, what those people don't realise is that this is the only way I can deal with grief.
What they also don't understand is that he wasn't always the best of fathers to me (He loathed my biological father so much, and the fact that I look like my father doesn't help much either), and he often treated me as a red headed step-child, but I still can't forget the good times, for if I did, I would only dwell in the darkness and remain ignorant of the times he actually did help me out.
Do I miss him? Of course, but I knew that this week would be his time. I felt it months ago that it would be this week, and I've accepted it, especially after seeing his dead body lying next to our heads in the morning.
Will the upcoming months be rough for my sisters and mum? Of course, and the only thing that I can do is help them. It's not that I'm unfazed by the events, I just realise that these events make me a bit stronger and able to withstand things a bit more than the normal person.