Lately, I've been waking up with a happy feeling armed with a plan to go visit my dad at his house. I play around with the thought for a few minutes, half-asleep in bed, before reality starts to sink in. It's when the general feeling of helplessness begins and I force myself to get up and deal with another day of "moving on."
I lost my dad a couple of weeks ago. Granted, I was never close to him in a way that most daughters are with their dads. I was never a daddy's girl, mainly because I never had the chance. Growing up with just my mom, my dad made occasional cameos in our lives. Me and my sister would have lunches with him, always on an erratic schedule. Some months would pass and we'd never see him, and there are months when we'd see him every weekend. I only know that every time we would see him, I was always happy. You always want what you can't have, they say.
It's hard to accept the reality of death when someone leaves you and this world behind so willingly. It's even harder to accept it when you've just started to let that person become a part of your life again. I've been gripped with regret and what-if scenarios every waking moment since that day. It gets harder when I realize he won't be around to watch me grow up and start a life of my own.
I miss my dad. I hope he's happy up there.
I miss my dad. I hope he's happy up there.
