It was October 14, 2001. I remember it vividly. I was at my aunt’s dining room table. I was coloring a picture in my coloring book waiting for my aunt to finishing cooking breakfast. The smell of pancakes filled the air as I finished the picture and my stomach started to growl.
The phone rang and I figured it would be my mother calling to tell my aunt that she was on her way to pick me up. Little did I know that this phone call would change the rest of my life, forever. This is the phone call that I still have nightmares about every night. It’s the call that forced my naïve self to mature and grow faster than all the other five-year-olds my age. It was the call telling my aunt that my father died a few moments before.
This was fifteen years ago. Fifteen years of having no father figure in my life and fifteen years of not seeing my best friend. People keep telling me that it would get better and that time heals all wounds. I would like to think that but reality begs to differ. The truth is, you will never get over the hurt of losing a parent. You will think of them every day and the smallest things will remind you of them. People still to this day tell me that they are sorry about my loss when they learn about my father and as much as I appreciate it, I hate hearing those words. Truth is, people tell you that it gets easier with time; that they will become a part of your memory and as much as I wish I could agree with them, I can’t.
In all honesty, losing a parent will never become easy. You think about them every day. They will appear in your dreams, your thoughts and your head. You see them when you look into the mirror and you hear them when you listen to your voice. You will be reminded of them all the time. It won’t become easier with time; you just learn to accept it.
I learned to accept that my life would be changed forever. I wouldn’t have my dad teach me how to drive or watch me graduate. He wouldn’t walk me down the aisle and he won’t be able to be there when his grandchildren learn to walk. I learned to accept reality. He isn’t here and there is nothing I can do to change that; I just need to accept it.
Learning to accept that I will never see or talk to my father again still makes me emotional from time to time. I still cry. It’s been fifteen years and I am still mourning over my father. You will never stop mourning and that is okay. I still find myself crying over certain songs that he would sing or looking at photos of the two of us. It’s how I cope. It’s been fifteen years and letting go is the hardest thing that I can try to do. Deep down, I am forcing myself to believe that there is a small hint of hope that everything is just a dream and I will wake up to him singing and making me toast; but I also know that deep down I know that he is gone.
I know that I will never be able to hug him again. I will never be able to say “good night” or “I love you” to his lopsided, smiling face. It has been fifteen years and I can tell you that losing a parent does not get any easier; you just learn to accept fate and learn to cope as you go on.
