Emptiness surrounds us all at every waking moment. It's only when you take a moment to look up that you notice it. The silence in a room, a void that needs filling. The quiet that begins to eat at you every waking moment. I felt this as I walked into my apartment. My mom called me seconds after I walked right inside. She told me she was on her way to pick me up because my dad was in the emergency room.
As a young girl, I always knew something was wrong with my dad's health. I knew he was sick, but I never knew the severity of it. It felt almost normal like this was just how things were. He traveled a lot, so I never thought of it much. Besides what sick person could be capable of hopping on an airplane and moving around at such a fast pace. It was only in high school that my mother mentioned to me that it'd been years since my dad was taking dialysis for a failing kidney. I never knew my father was gone most of the time because he was making his appointments to be hooked up to a machine. It angered me that my parents never told me, but it angered me more that I hadn't noticed. That I never asked why daddy was never home. I quickly began researching what dialysis meant, the fear of asking my dad or my mom to explain it to me pushed me to find answers for myself. It became an unspoken topic; I just had to learn how to cope alone.
As time went on, school teachers mentioning anything of dialysis made me sick to my stomach. I could feel tears filling my eyes as I tried to hold them back. All I ever kept thinking was how much longer am I going to have with my dad. Will he be alive thirty, forty years from now? The many times I jokingly told him I couldn't wait to see how he would look at 80 years old all caught up to me as I started to understand that that might never be a reality.
My terrified 15-year-old self instantly came back as I rushed to the hospital. Seeing my dad hooked up to machines with fear in his eyes, holding back his tears, trying to stay calm brought me to reality. I knew it was time for me to be an adult, a time for me now to take care of someone who's always taken care of me. I was no longer daddy's little girl but instead his supportive 22-year-old daughter. I knew in these moments that no matter what I had to stay strong for him. For my mom and my brothers. I held back every aching pain in my chest and tears that were pushing every vein my eyes forcing the tears out. I held tightly to my father's hand as I watched him look into my eyes only to reassure me he'd be okay.
I've always treasured every moment with my dad. The good the bad and the ugly. As I saw him fight for his life, I knew that this would not be the day I would lose my dad. He's a strong man pushing through every day to see his family and to be the supportive father he has always been. I know my dad will not live for thirty, forty more years. I know that is not my reality. But I will continue to cherish every aching moment with my dad until the day comes that I have to say goodbye.
Dad, you mean the world to me. Even though I hate you calling me "daddy's girl", it'll always stick with me forever like an imprint on my soul.
