I Miss My Dad

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One of the most difficult things about longing probably is missing someone you won't see anymore. It's like a memory that's hazy and foggy--you know it's real, but it doesn't feel like it is anymore. Coupled with regrets and hopes which are to no avail, the longing gets even more unbearable at the worst instances.

It's been a lot of years now since Daddy passed away. A decade to be exact. I was 11 then, stupid and unaware of the effects of death. It just won't strike you as real or anything big at once, well, at least for me. It didn't happen that way. For all it was, I was wondering more than I was grieving. I found it normal. I found it as something which happens to anyone, anytime. I wasn't the grieving girl type when it happened.

Until the fact struck me. I remember the sad dreams that haunted me months after the event. I cried in my sleep, more of because I hoped the dreams were real. I cry when my mind wakes up, and realizes none of it were true. (When I wake up from a dream, I don't usually automatically open my eyes). The content of the dreams are usually the same, my father returns, an indication that he has already left. And at the end of it, leaves. Usually, he leaves when I am unaware of it, that I'll wander a little, thinking he's gonna be there when I return. Usually, in my dreams, I get lost looking for him. Maybe these are projections of my hopes that he'll still return. Because the grave doesn't look like it's full. It looks like a bed of grass with nothing else beneath it.

When I miss him, I feel like curling into a ball because I want to hug him so badly, but I know I couldn't ever anymore; because my chest hurts so badly, I want to make the pain seize; because I want to be like a little girl again, forgetting everything. There were those quiet sobbing at some nights, trying to conceal the pain. Sometimes the triggers are quite simple, a chocolate bar, a string of beads, a fragrance, a tall man, different things that remind me of him.

They say that time heals wounds, but I realized that the wounds will turn to scars--visible reminders of pain. And though they say scars don't hurt anymore, sometimes, it feels like there are frail scars, they hurt when you touch them. And though it is a decision to move forward and to not dwell on pain, it is human frailty to go back and wish things were different.

I have been healed from the pain, yes. But remembering is just inevitable, especially when someone deeply dear to you cannot be there for you anymore, all you have left are the memories and hopes. And though it is to no avail I hope he returns, I look forward to let him remain in my heart. Moving forward doesn't come with forgetting, shouldn't even. I told myself I should not dwell in the pain of the past anymore, but I concluded that doesn't mean I forget the beauty of it. How could I easily forget the only time I depended on a man? How could I forget that once in my life I have been carried? How could it be easy to unremember that time all I was waiting for was Daddy to appear on the school gates and pick me up?

I am thankful for the turns of events that crafted me to be who I am right now. I am thankful that it didn't go otherwise. I am thankful that everything has been well-orchestrated by my dear Creator. And though I remember, I won't go back and try to remedy things and try to do the improbable and impossible. I am happy to be reminded that my father was a good man who loved me and my siblings so much. I am happy to have had him in my life. Knowing that the Lord's design is for me not to have him in the entirety of my temporary existence, I am thankful that for the first eleven years in my life, I have been taken care of by someone like him. Time is rolling, and the time that I have had no Dad will be longer than the time he was with us, but my desire is to continue to treasure the memory of one of the most beautiful people I have ever met in this life.

Thank you, Daddy. Thank you so much.