It is Christmas Day 2010 and the clock reads 12:00pm. After a long night of rest, the sunlight coming from the window hits my face long enough to wake me up. I open my eyes and see that the weather is calm, the snow sits still on the ground, and the house is abnormally quiet. Slowly, I get up and walk down the stairs adjacent to my room. As I enter the kitchen, no one is there; as I enter the living room, I realize only my cousin is home. Having absolutely no idea what to do, he lies on the couch as he watches an old cartoon. Seeing as I had little to no interest in that cartoon, I moved to the chair facing the computer. I turn on the computer and do what any teenager would do: go on Facebook. Next thing you know, two hours have passed, and bam, the clock reads 2:13pm. The front door opens and my entire family walks into the house. As my cousin’s eyes move from the TV and mine from the computer, we both acknowledge that everyone that walked in is very quiet – quiet, something uncommon in my family. As they walk in, my sister heads my way. The clock reads 2:14pm on Christmas Day and it is abnormally calm. From one second to the next, my whole life has changed. As my sister opens her mouth, she utters three words no 13-year-old wants to hear: dad is dead. Suddenly, I forget how to breathe, the anxiety sets in, and I feel a thousand stabs to the chest. And then I think: this can’t. This is not what it is, only baby scars. I need your love like a boy needs his mother’s side.
This day marked the beginning of many years of grief, suffering, anxiety, and depression. I know that you’ll always be right by my side, but I also need my dad to be here physically. The graduations, the future marriage, the changing and growing family, the successful steps his children take – everything he will never see. The realization, the actual realization, that he is gone is what keeps me up at night. It makes me wonder the point to life, the vulnerability of human beings, the short length of a human life. Funny, huh? A child having a midlife crisis. Taking a parent from a youngster is an injustice to that kid, it is taking their family away, it is taking their entire childhood away from them. A 13-year-old does not understand grief and death. Ha! Even now, the 19-year-old fails to understand it.
After so long, I believe it’s time for me to move forward, when I break through. This time, I’ll make you proud of who you raised. Today, I am happy person; I am someone striving for a good life. I’ve passed the test, I’ve earned an A, not just in school, but in life. I have loving people around me, an opportunity to an exceptional college education, and a good heart. I stop to think: This is not what it is, only baby scars. I need your love like a boy needs his mother’s side. Yes, he is gone, and yes he will never come back. And even if I yell “come back so I can say thank you for this, home cooked meals and a place to rest,” he will not come back. He’s not here physically, but my memories will keep him alive.
I move forward and try not to look back. It happened; okay. Take a step forward; there are so many more steps to go. One cannot dwell on one day. But it was a calm winter day. The sun was bright and no one was home. Stop. Look forward and try not look back. Death is a part of life and it never stops hurting when someone dies, but it gets easier to deal with. Today, I am happy, I am successful, I have a good life, and I have good people around me. These are good things. Think about today. Focus on today.
To anyone who has lost a parent, you are not alone.
Song excerpts taken from "Second & Sebring" by Of Mice & Men.
