I was 16 when I witnessed my dad take his last breath. Lung and esophagus cancer had left him swollen, and the morphine wasn't leaving as much as an effect as before. He had gotten me interested in many things I love today (video games, Star Wars, tinkering with stuff). A week after that, I had prayed that I could see him just one more time. That night, I had a dream where I walked into the living room and he was laying on the couch watching Return of the Jedi (the first Star Wars I had seen). Now, I'm content with it, believing I'll see him again.