It’s been years. We haven’t seen each other in a long time. We haven’t talked in a long time either. I never forgot the last 4 and a half years we spent with you. You got sick; you spent those years trapped in your bed since you lost mobility on the left side of your body. It was hell and heaven at the same time. Mom proved she was capable of taking care of us. She still does. Sis was busy screwing up. She’s good now, she followed her will and became a nurse and has her own kid who has eyes and hair like yours. I’m trying to live life as I know it. It’s not the life you and Mom wanted for me, but I’m making the best out of it. I’m still trying to live and be fine after you left.
I guess this is just me missing you. I never really got over the fact that you’re no longer here. You were my armor, you tried to shelter me and sis from all the harm there is in this world. I still have the thought that maybe if you were here I would never go through the pain I’ve experienced in my life. Maybe I would’ve been a better man. It was hard, transitioning from a boy to a man without my father by my side, seeing Mom struggle to raise me as a functional man and ended up with a man-child as a son, seeing her disappointed at me for all the wrong things I did pains me more than it pains her. Well, she loves the three of us too much that she accepted our flaws with open arms and an open heart. I never really had the guts to ask them if they miss you too nor the strength to tell them that I still feel sad that we lost you. I remember you every day. I remember you from days that the sun shone like the last time we had you and from the nights that resembles the last night I failed to give you a final goodbye. I remember you all the time, from the smoke I puff out of my mouth and from your first granddaughter that has your smile. I remember you.
It’s funny to think that a grown man feels emotional while randomly remembering his father. But ever since you died, talking about dads has been my weakness, it pulls me down. Maybe that’s the reason I never really had the guts to tell Mom and Sis that I still feel this way about what happened. We’ve already put them through too much; I don’t want to add more pain. I know they remember you too. Mom told me once that my afro reminds her of you. We all miss you. I just wish you were here right now. Everything would’ve been even better.
This is me missing you. I will always remember you.
Published by Annie Boid