Torch and Anchor

Torch and Anchor

Aug 1, 2016, 8:17:53 PM Creative

He’d been my anchor. He was the one who held me tight as my heart went broken and shattered into pieces. He was there every time I need someone to help me fight every fear I had. He was there to put me into place and stand back up to keep moving forward. He was the one who would bug me and text me constantly whenever I wasn’t home yet. He was the one who would stay awake to make sure I was home safe.

I was stubborn as hell but he never gave up on me. There were quite a few times when I knew he was getting tired of me. But he wouldn’t stop caring and loving me. He would ask me if I was okay or what was in my mind. I would not tell him though. I didn’t want him to worry. I didn’t want to pass the weight of my thoughts to him. He had a lot of things on his plate.

My heart fell on the floor as I saw him lying on the bed as the doctor tried to revive him. His eyes were closed and he was not moving at all. My world was on a constant rotation but at that time, I felt like the time had stopped. It was like in the movies I had watched but they didn’t warn me that the pain was too much to bear. I couldn’t even comprehend any thoughts when the doctor said that if it was still flat line, they could not do anything about it, that they had done their best. “No, this could not be. This is just a nightmare. No, please,” I kept on telling myself as he dropped the bomb.

I looked at him and my eyes never stopped pouring the tears. I said to myself a week before that I would be finally okay because I didn’t need a man in my life except for him. He would help me get through the biggest heartbreak I had at that time. I never thought that there was a greater heartbreak. It was seeing him lifeless as the doctor declared his time of death.

My father was a policeman. He taught us not to do anything to others that would hurt or harm them. He was overprotective. He had protected me from the predators of this world to live away from the cruelty and heartbreak. He sacrificed so much for us. He did everything just to make us feel safe, loved and protected. There were times that he was overbearing but that were his role at some points of my life. But I had appreciated everything he had done for me, for us.

When I was seventeen, I had a fever in school. It was unbearable and I was nauseous. I was vomiting and I couldn’t go home alone. He had arthritis back then but he went all the way from our house to my school. I was bigger than him but he was able to get me home safe and sound. He couldn’t sleep that much because I was too sick and he was worried. No one ever poured that kind of affection to me. Only my father did.

His smiles were warm. He was friendly to everyone. He was too kind for his own good. As people poured their sympathies on us at his burial, I knew he had been a good man. I never stayed in one place in our house for too long every night because I would break.

His interment was short and quiet. I couldn’t even think that he was the one lying inside the coffin. I was a mess. I didn’t want him to go. I was not ready at all. It was too sudden. I knew he had this disease for years but he never gave up.

Our house was empty without him. There were no good mornings from him. He wasn’t there to cheer me up whenever he saw me frowning. He wasn’t there to tell me that I was getting huge without offending me at all. He wasn’t there to ask me how my kickboxing training was. He wasn’t there to tell me to be safe whenever I was outside and went around the metro. He wasn’t there to laugh or to simply remind my mother to take a rest. He wasn’t there to ask me what I would do in my life. He wasn’t simply there and I felt so empty. I never felt this empty.

My days were just unthinkable days. My smiles never reached my eyes. I was numb and I didn’t know how to be alright. It was cold. He was not around, the light of my path and the fire of our home. I was falling apart and all I could think was him. I just wanted a few years with him, a decade maybe. I just wanted to make him proud, to let him see that her daughter wasn’t just a ball of depression. I wanted to let him see the real and alive me who would graduate and attain her dreams. I knew there’s still my mother. But it was way different when my father was here. People could say that I was being too dramatic and what-not but I could care less. My father was my best friend even though we never shared a lot of life stories with each other. We wouldn’t utter a word but I knew we would always be there for each other. We would never give up.

He was my torch in the dark tunnels I was passing through lately. I was drained but he was there to pour the love that someone had taken away from me. He was there to complete my pieces even though he had no clue what I was going through. I couldn’t tell him. It would break him to know that his daughter was crying over a man he never met because he cheated on her. It would break him to know that the princess and the baby he was protecting was shattered and broken all at the same time. It would break him to know the pain that his daughter was trying to endure for him, for them. And I was thankful I never confessed them to him. It was better that way. It was better for him that he died and just knew that money was our only problem. Not my heart, not my soul. For he deserved the peace, he deserved the best, because he’s one of the greatest men and father I met.

Published by Lea Dapal


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