At night in Graceland, I would lie awake and listen for the sounds drifting up from downstairs. Sometimes it was Daddy’s voice calling out, sometimes just the low hum of the television, or the faint footsteps of the house staff moving quietly through the halls. He often came home late, looking so tired. Part of me wanted to run to him, to wrap my arms around him and whisper, Daddy, are you okay? But another part of me stayed still, afraid to disturb whatever fragile peace he had found.
I will never forget the night I found him on the bathroom floor. One moment the house was quiet, the next it erupted with panic. People were shouting for the doctor, someone was crying, and everything felt unreal. I knelt beside him, touched his back, and waited, my heart pounding so hard I could barely breathe. Daddy, please don’t die. Please wake up. That night, when the world finally went still again, I wrote a little poem with only one line: I hope my daddy doesn’t die. It was everything my nine-year-old heart could hold.
When he was away on tour, the emptiness felt too big. I missed him with a quiet ache that never went away. I remember the thrill the night he held my hand and led me onto the stage. The lights were blinding, the crowd roared like a storm, but all I felt was warmth and pride. He kept me close for a moment, and I felt safe in a way nothing else could give me. Then I had to return to my seat beside Grandpa Vernon, and I would sit there with my eyes fixed only on him. No matter how loud the world around us became, he was the only one I could see.
And then came the day everything broke. I walked into the room where he lay in his casket, surrounded by people crying. I reached out and touched his face, his hand, and nothing made sense. The world felt too quiet, like someone had turned off all the sound inside my chest. I kept asking silently, Why did this have to happen? Why did he have to carry so much, all alone? For the rest of my life, that day stayed with me. It was the day I lost not just my father, but the center of my small universe.
