It was a seemingly ordinary day, waking up to get ready for school, got in my father’s car, and he dropped me off at school. Little did I know that by the day's end, my world would be forever changed. I vividly remember the distant echoes of laughter and the cheerful hum of family life filling our home. It wasn’t all laughing and being cheerful because most days were arguing, siblings doing this and that, family warfare’s, and even love that never felt genuine when seeing my parents together. But within moments, the sun-soaked tranquility transformed into a nightmare as news spread that my father had fallen from the roof. Getting the call while standing in my aunts living room and she yells out, “oh my god! No this isn’t happening,” my heart pounded with a mix of fear and disbelief while falling to my knees. Rushing to the hospital, we arrived and everyone else shortly arrived after. We all knew something was wrong when we got there before the medical airlift did. As time went on and all we could do was wait, my uncle walks in holding back tears saying, “he’s gone. He’s –.” My sister lets out a bloody murder scream and I watch as everything around me moved slow motion but fast at the same time.
Life is about feeling emotions with threads of joy, sorrow, and unexpected tragedies. For me, one such devastating event marked the turning point in my life's narrative. At the tender age of ten, I experienced the heart-wrenching loss of my father, whose life was abruptly cut short by a fall from the roof, instantly breaking his neck. In an instant, my world shattered, and the innocence of childhood dissipated, leaving behind a profound void. Like a glue, my father held our family together, and without him, everything seemed irreparably fragmented.
In addition to the tragic loss of my father, another significant blow to my world occurred prior to his untimely death. Before his passing, my parents had made the decision to separate. The dissolving love of their marriage introduced a new layer of complexity and pain into my already fragile existence. As a young child, witnessing the disintegration of the once unbreakable bond between my parents was both bewildering and heart-wrenching. You know, it took me a full year to even let out true tears about his death. The separation left me grappling with feelings of abandonment and confusion, as I struggled to comprehend the complexities of adult relationships. I tried to understand just what will keep me safe and who will be honest with everything around me. In all honesty, that’s where my trust issues started to boil. The impending loss of my father magnified the impact of their separation, as it became apparent that the chance of a reconciliation was forever extinguished. The absence of a unified family unit further compounded the sense of loss, leaving me feeling adrift and emotionally torn between the two people I loved most. It wasn’t even just them, but my father’s side of the family did not like my mother, the woman God gave me because he has a purpose, they didn’t like her. Despised her and better yet, they tried to take my sister and I away from her after my father’s passing. I’m not going to say my mother was the best parent of all time, yet she was only doing the best she could through also losing her husband of thirteen years. She was grieving herself in a way that my sister and I being young did not understand just yet.
The passing of a loved one inevitably brings about a void that seems impossible to fill. As a ten-year-old, my young mind struggled to comprehend the permanence of death and the reality that my father would never return. The sense of loss permeated every corner of my life, leaving me adrift in a sea of confusion, anger, and overwhelming sadness.
My father was the glue that bound our family together, his presence instilling a sense of security and warmth. He was my superhero, always ready with a comforting hug or a playful joke. With his absence, it felt as if the foundation of our family had crumbled, leaving behind fragmented pieces that were difficult to piece back together.
The aftermath of losing my father was a tumultuous journey through the stormy seas of emotions. Grief manifested in myriad ways, from tear-stained pillows to sleepless nights filled with unanswered questions. The heaviness of loss weighed upon my shoulders, making it challenging to find solace in a world that felt so foreign and uncertain.
As a child, the grieving process became a balancing act between trying to grasp the magnitude of my loss while also grappling with the expectations of the outside world. The innocence of childhood was abruptly stripped away, replaced by the weight of adult responsibilities. It was a delicate tightrope walk, trying to understand my emotions while remaining strong for my family and most importantly myself because I was a child. I was just a child.
Time, they say, is a great healer. And slowly, as the days turned into weeks and weeks into months, months turned into years, and now it has been over a decade, I began to rediscover a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness. The memories of my father's love, his guidance, and his unwavering presence became a source of strength, urging me to carry on.
Though the void left by my father's passing would never fully be filled, I discovered solace in cherishing the time we had together and embracing the lessons he imparted. The shattered fragments of my world began to realign, and I started finding my own resilience, my own strength, to navigate the uncertain path ahead.
