It took several days for me to learn just how horrible that first one was.
It was concerning at the beginning, of course, when dad didn't come home, but only time could show us just how serious the situation was. I woke up that Sunday morning expecting that dad had been found safe and sound while I slept. Though doubt and dark thoughts whispered the crueler truth to me, I wasn't prepared to find out that reality had only grown more dire. To be honest, it wasn't just the fact that dad went missing that made those days heartbreaking. The worst part was that he had been there for the majority of that Saturday. Dad had been right in front of me. We had talked as we always did, we goofed around like usual, and I took him for granted like I done each and every day of my life. I hadn't taken one second to say goodbye before he left. It had been a while since I had even hugged him or done anything to let him know I appreciated him. Dad had walked out the door, and in that moment he transformed from a person I knew into a mere memory of a person I had known.
I woke up early, and I left my bed eagerly. I wanted to see what dad had done that caused him to be so late. I wanted to joke around with him again, and I wanted to tease an extra ice cream cup out of him for making me worry. However, what I got instead was a series of unfamiliar voices quietly wafting up from downstairs. I could tell by the way they were talking that the discussion wasn't a cheerful one.