My Life After Dad

Chapter 1: Who Am I?

As I lay here, on this dreary, damp day, I stop and wonder, how I got here, and how far I’ve come. You see, I wasn’t always this worried about my existence. There was a time in this life-cycle, where I could stop and smell those metaphorically induced ‘roses’, and not want to wring someone’s neck. Only now, at the age of 22, am I so full of sorrow.

My father passed away four months ago, today. Even now, months have come and gone, but I still feel the void in the pit of my stomach, where I could just scream my lungs onto the carpet. He died a sad, slow, painful one. No eye, half his face gone, couldn’t think for himself any longer, and all we could do was watch… and of course, not only was he physically in agony, but mentally as well.

He would complain about every tiny thing, and then some. We didn’t know how to make him happy. All we could do, to make the best of things, was to pray each night, that he’d wake up every morning. We were selfish. Regardless of what was happening, we wanted dad alive, no matter how excruciating it was for him. Each night, thoughts kept racing in my head. “Will Dad ever heal? Will we get him the help? How can we afford all this? I can’t lose my dad, I’m far too young!”

Back in 2004, of sometime, I had a nightmare that stayed with me, and never left my thoughts. “I woke up, and walked into the living room. My whole family was there, except Dad. I thought nothing of it, and proceeded to grab a small camera from beneath my shirt. Everyone ran to the sofa, and positioned themselves. As I put my face to the lens, I paused… My dad appeared through the hole, standing behind everyone. I took the camera away, only to find he disappeared… I woke disoriented.”

Why did it stay with me? Did my mind already know my father’s fate? Was it trying to tell me, 9 years before the tragedy? Should I have taken action? All this and I barely remembered after his death. I felt so guilty, because, we were just too poor to do anything. Nobody wanted to help us either. I had made videos, pleading for assistance, but people online would just throw the phony, “Sorry” to us, and one even had the nerve to ask how we could make up such lies, to get the views. I was undeniably offended. How could people be so naïve?

As my father lay helplessly in bed each day, I ached for the past to come back. Dad was fine, just two years before this madness. I recall it all so well. Like the time when he and my mother rode go-karts with me, on my 18th birthday, or the times we would bowl together. That was our “thing”. See, my dad was a professional bowler, in his own league. He even won trophies for it! (Which he tried countless times, to throw away, but I thank the Heavens he never did.)

When I was young, I’d eagerly watch him from the bowling seats, as he rolled the bowling ball down the lane, crashing it into the pins with vigorous force. I’d clap and squeal, wishing I could play. Soon, I did. He’d take me bowling almost every Sunday morning. We’d wake up early, eat as fast as we could, jump in his truck, and off we went. I had not a care in the world, being with my best friend, my father. He made me the happiest little girl on the planet. When we got there, I would jump out of the vehicle, run straight to the double doors, and bolt into the room. I can still remember the cold wind blowing in my hair, as I stepped inside each time, or the way he’d bowl, every final time, through his legs, just to make me laugh. Before his fatality, he promised me we’d bowl one last time… It never happened…

His memory lives on, in those four walls of the alley. When I moved to California for 6 months, however, that’s when my life came crashing down…

Chapter 2: The Beginning

You see, when I started dating my boyfriend, Mike, in 2010, I began spiraling out of control. Don’t get me wrong, I love this guy, he’s everything I could’ve asked for. But I was lied to, because he assumed everything in his lovely state was a hundred times better than mine. Let’s get one thing straight… Your parents are ALWAYS right. They’ve been through it all, so they know it all. Do not develop into this little bitchy teenager, with the mindset, that you know everything, because you’re going to fall HARD on your face. I did it. Before I moved, my mother and father both, scolded me up and down. I regret leaving my family, to this day, but I have to live with it for the rest of my life.

On the phone, just before boarding the plane, I could still hear my father’s sobbing. I felt as if I had just murdered someone. He had never shed one tear, in my 19 years of being alive. So when it happened, time sort of stopped. He begged me to stay, and cried how much he was going to miss me. I was incredibly alarmed at what I was hearing, through the other end. My “I promise to keep in touch!” wasn’t working. My brother had to stop his tears, because I didn’t know how.

When I boarded the plane, I could still see the expressionless look of my mother, when I had drove off, a few hours back. I could see her appearance, the look of unemotional distress. I felt like I had betrayed my family, all for my boyfriend. Even my sister was desolate. I had written her a goodbye letter, and she never ended up reading it. She told me on the phone that I was just on vacation, and I’d be back soon.

When we got to California, I felt so foreign. With all the conceited blondes, and egotistical airheads walking around, it was as if they owned the oxygen, and I wasn’t allowed to breathe. When we arrived at Mike’s aunt’s home, she didn’t even realize we were coming. His mother never told her. They got in a huge fight, and I felt like a trapped monkey, stuck on an island. We ended up sleeping in the garage for a couple days. Weeks passed, and I just wanted to go home. Little did I know, my father was only getting worse.

Chapter 3: Perceiving Pain

I got a phone call, about four months into my prison sentence. By that I mean, living with his aunt. My sister was on the other end. She told me how dad had a tumor on his face, which kept growing every day. Five months into penitentiary, she sent a photo of Dad’s face. It was enormous, about the size of a large baseball, to be exact. I cringed in disbelief. My poor father was suffering, constantly missing me, and here I was, stranded in a state, where I wasn’t even wanted. I had to go back. I convinced my boyfriend, and finally, after six long treacherous months, we jumped in his jeep, and drove straight to Texas.

It took 3 days to get there, but it definitely felt longer. We kept stopping every hour on the hour, mainly in Arizona, because his car kept overheating. The ride was extensive, simply because in the back of my mind, it was all about Dad. When we got to Dallas, I felt a sad remorse, because I knew what nature my father was in. I anxiously breathed, my heart beating, like a thousand wild buffalos. As we got into my home city, the anxiety rose. I produced even more racing thoughts. I had to put on a fake smile, for Dad, for Mom, for my sanity.

When we got there, I called my mother’s phone, and made up a cliché, yet practical story, how we’d be there in a couple days, and we were just at the beach, enjoying the waves. Little did she know, we were standing outside anticipating the memorable walk, up the rickety stairs, into her arms, once again. I hung up, and Mike turned on the video camera. Not a moment too soon, my niece opened the door, stood in awe, screamed, ran inside, and all I could hear was “Grandma! Jericka and Mike are outside!” I genuinely smiled. The gaze of seeing my happy family, didn’t have me forcibly beaming, it just happened. As my mother walked outside, her reaction was a breathtaking one. With tears of joy, and lots of laughter, I could tell she was relieved to see me in one piece. The camera ceased, and we went inside.

Soon, I heard my father’s footsteps coming up the stairs. We positioned ourselves, for another surprise. And again, the camera captured it all. My dad wasn’t as enthusiastic as my mother. Something told him I’d be home soon, so he already kind of knew. Or maybe it was the constant pain he had to endure; it was probably already taking its toll. His face however, gave my heart a few skips. It was the worst thing I had ever imagined.

The grotesque, grapefruit-sized tumor, with rotting green and black flesh, and the smell of death, wafting into the room, as he entered, was too much to bear. Somehow, I kept myself from crying, right then and there. To this day, I can’t believe how courageous and strong my father was. This terrible thing on his face, had been a long reminder that his life was cutting short, yet he kept on living, until the final breath of air he could take.

Chapter 4: Facing Reality

From 2011 to 2012, were the hardest moments, my family had ever had to endure. My father became weaker and weaker, and because we couldn’t afford to help Dad, my sister tried getting him Medicaid. At the time, he had a truck driving job, and had to quit, to receive the governmental help. He loved that job, regardless what anyone could ever say. Every time he came home from his trips, he’d always have a brilliant story to tell us. I still remember the time he brought me a large tumbleweed, because I was fascinated with them, and I kept it for as long as I could. When he lost that job, he went into his first real depression. The government repoed his truck, because you could only have one vehicle, while applying, which was my mother’s car. To make matters worse, because he lost his job, my parents lost their home, of fifteen years. That home was mine, just as much. I grew up there. I did everything imaginable there, from my first bike ride, my first best friend, my first boyfriend, to my first actual bedroom. I still remember the first time we moved there.

I was five. It was a cold wintery night, and we didn’t have electricity, yet. My sister and mother went to sleep at my uncle’s house, for the night. My dad wanted to sleep in our brand new home, so I stayed too. I jumped in my parents’ bed, freezing from the frosty evening. My dad walked in and threw a large crocheted quilt, handmade by my mother, over me. I giggled happily, and he tickled me. Squealing, I tickled back, and we had a good laugh. He kissed my forehead, and I cheerfully fell asleep. Moments like this, just remind me it won’t happen ever again.

Now, when I pass by it, and see other beings living in what was once MINE, I sigh in resentment. How could they just take over, and not realize the suffering, that happened in that house? The pain my father went through, while they now prance about, like joyous little ponies. It all made me sick. I never thought life could be this cruel.

So as the story continued, my father had to wait, several months, to even get any help. They scraped tissue samples from his face, and all we could do, was pause and watch time go by, slipping through our fingers, ever so calmly. Another month went by, and he had his second surgery of his lifetime. See, back in the 80s, way before I was even a little swimming tadpole, my father had his first eye surgery, to remove a small tumor. Since then, he was always known for having a small eye. They had to remove part of his skin, so it closed around the eye. Years later, 2011, it began growing back tremendously, but he had waited the entire year, up until April of 2012, to get the aid.

I blame myself. I really do. If I hadn’t taken off on that 6 month holiday (if you could really call it that), he wouldn’t have been so depressed. Maybe, just maybe, he gave up when I left. I don’t know, honestly. It all makes me wonder…

So when he got his second surgery, we were hopeful. The man was named Dr. Lemon. To this day, I have yet to meet him, but I wish I could shake his hand, and thank him for keeping my dad alive, for as long as possible. This man actually donated his services to our family. It was originally going to be thousands of dollars, but by a miracle at work, my dad got help, for so much less! The kind gesture helped for a few months, but sadly, good things always get cut short, and my father got sick again. This was around the time his Medicaid kicked in, and the time I had been back from my California adventures, for a few months. Again, they took more skin tissue, and it felt like déjà vu, once more… but then, he had his first seizure.

Chapter 5: Panic

It was the Sunday before Christmas, December 23rd. We were all enjoying the holiday season. Mike and I were at home, while my family, relaxing at my sister’s. Then I got the phone call…

“Dad just had a seizure!” Those five words stopped me in my tracks. That’s all I could remember from the phone call, besides taking him to the hospital. It echoed repeatedly in my mind. By the time I had gotten to the phone, Mike was asleep. I called my brother for a ride, and we rushed to the emergency room. In the waiting area, my sister and mom immediately told us what happened. I winced in panic-stricken thoughts, as my gray matter, created the entire story, for my head to watch. My sister spoke first, then my mother.

“We were halfway through a movie in our bedroom, and dad was watching TV, with mom, in the living room. Mom started yelling for help to call 911. We ran to see what happened, while I called the ambulance. They instructed us to lay him on the floor, sideways, but because he was so tall, we couldn’t. He was shaking badly, and couldn’t stop. It was the scariest experience I had ever seen. When the ambulance finally showed up, they had to use a chair to get him on the gurney. Little did we know, Dad had already died, in the ambulance. They had to use defibrillators on him, to bring him back. At the hospital, we waited in anxiety. The doctor came out and asked mom, if she wanted them to do all they could. After a long pause, my mother burst out “Please! Do everything possible to bring him back! I can’t lose him yet!” When Dad came back, he fell into a coma until Christmas day. Then, thirty minutes later, it snowed. And if you live in Texas, you know it pretty much never snows. When Dad finally woke, he was 100% convinced he was dead. He kept saying it over and over. I had to keep telling him he was alive, and I could see him. He just kept on chanting. Finally, after four to five hours, and all the convincing the family could give, he finally agreed. What struck me with confusion, were the words he spoke. “I did something very bad, but I’m not telling.” I’ll never know what he meant by that. He then began getting tons of déjà vu, and everything that was coming out of his mouth, was happening the next second. It was like he was telling the future, before it happened! ”

“It was the morning before the seizure, about 4am, and I had a weird experience. I had an intense electric shock go through my entire body. I wasn’t sleeping, fully awake, with only enough light from the kitchen stove. I couldn’t explain it. Almost like a tremor. The next night, I was sitting with Dad, watching TV, when all of a sudden I heard a loud crash of the chair. I looked to my right, to see Dad completely horizontal, shaking madly. I screamed for help, to call 911. I couldn’t believe it. Dad was supposed to have died that December, but God kept him here, for as long as possible. We just weren’t ready, that night.”

Dad stopped leaving the house around this time. People would treat him like a monster. He told us a story how he used a bus transit to travel somewhere, and a piss ant guy, asked him why he smelled, and told him to move elsewhere. This story breaks my heart, every time. My dad couldn’t help the smell. He couldn’t help that this satanic thing, reeking with odor, was on his face. How dare that bastard say such heartless words? To this day, I just want to drive a car through that jerk’s house, and see how he likes to lose something precious. On top of that, the seizures made him fall. So my family decided it wasn’t the best idea that he left. All Dad wanted, was to feel normal again. To be able to stand in public, and not get glares, staring back at him. But because this wish would never come true, he became homebound for the remainder of his life.

Each day, he stayed at our once livable home. The terrible memories of Dad in pain, headache after headache, every yell, every complaint, I remember all too well. Around this time, they were moving all of my parents stuff out of their home, into a giant storage. And because the electricity was cut off, my dad could no longer live there, because the heat would cause the tumor to spread. So, my parents moved to my sister’s. Unfortunately, my sister’s home was small. She had two kids, and one on the way, that meant there wasn’t a spare bedroom, so they slept in her living room. Imagine living in a small, claustrophobic little house, with 5 others, and your spouse. I don’t know how they managed for so long, but I’m sure Dad wished things were different.

It was constantly loud, with the kids running about, and for a man with nonstop headaches, you could just imagine the discomfort he was in. Still, I thank my selfless sister, and amazing mother, for being so strong. My whole family has been through Hell and back, yet they managed to keep a smile on their face, for as much of the journey, as possible.

I had spent the night a few times before my parents’ home was foreclosed. It didn’t feel the same. I was creeped out. My room was colder. The house felt lonely, and everything in it, seemed to be attacking me emotionally. It’s as if the home itself, was trying to push me out, for good. I still remember the final day, Dad and I spent together in that house…

“The last morning I spent, with my dad, in that house, I felt so bad for him. He woke up early, like always, and made breakfast, of eggs and potatoes. For some reason or other, as I watched my dad, from afar, a tear ran down my cheek, and I felt so much sympathy for him. He offered me the food, happily eager to make a plate. I didn’t want any, but I took it anyway, just to make him feel good. That day, I’ll always remember.”

When everything was finally moved out of our old home, I stared blankly at my past, heartbroken. The day had ultimately come, to say goodbye, to my childhood. There was no turning back. I walked around the house, remembering all the pets, buried far beneath the dirt. I remembered all the cats that would come around, seeing Dad playing with them, calling out their names, with his kid-like voice. We all hadn’t a care in the world, back then. As I shed a few tears, at that very moment, I realized life was about to change, and I wasn’t ready. In only a course of a year, our entire world had drastically turned upside down. Our outlook on living and dying was this colossal ball of energy, ready to smash us in the face. I said my final farewells, and we packed up. My mother returned the keys, and never looked back.

Chapter 6: Putting Life in Auto Drive

Back at my sister’s, was nothing new. Hospice gave my dad a bed to sleep in, because a couch wasn’t sufficient enough. By this time, dad already had 3 surgeries. They had to remove his eye, because the cancer had attacked it, and had to get out the infection. At first, I didn’t know what to say. I had never seen anyone with only one eye. I was scared for Dad. I felt the pain he felt, emotionally, when I stared back at him. He didn’t deserve any of this torture, yet he was getting kicked in the face from all sides. My family was always good people. The never stole, never killed, never sinned so badly, that something like this needed to happen, but it did. And here I was, watching it all happen, and I couldn’t do a single thing. I had already asked for help, I had already begged, but nothing worked.

Dad had another seizure, shortly after my mother’s birthday. We think it had something to do with the computer game he was playing. My mother had that same queer shock, days before it happened, almost like her body showed her what it felt like, for him. Since then, he stopped all contact with electronics, and mainly kept everyone in the dark. Life was only going downhill from there. I still remember on my birthday, when we went to visit him. I had just turned twenty. As I walked into the room, he told me happy birthday, and asked if I was twenty-three. I felt so confused.

Dad was deteriorating, slowly, every day. When he wasn’t at my sister’s he stayed in the hospital 9 different times. They had to remove a chunk of his leg tissue, to put on his face. His cheek was swollen most of the time, trying to heal. We thought Dad was going to finally heal after the last surgery, but we were wrong. In the course of 2 months, Dad’s cancer had come back. The only thing now, was to make him comfortable. Dad signed a contract, saying he didn’t want to be DE fibbed, if his heart stopped. It was now, the waiting game.

As he got worse, he began acting peculiar. He’d get up, and roam around, aimlessly, digging in my sister’s purse, or my mom’s bag, without any realization he was doing it. “Dad, why are you looking in there?” “I don’t know”. It was getting worse. I overheard a story, how he walked outside in the street, at night, for no special reason. He was a longtime smoker, since we could remember, and he had to stop smoking, so the cancer wouldn’t spread. He started smoking again, despite the warnings. During the end of his life, it was so bad, delusional from all his medications, that he started seeing things. He thought his grandson was in the room with him, while in fact; his grandson had already left for the night. He’d yell for his granddaughter, but she was already asleep. When my sister told him, he’d say “Baby, I just saw her walk by.” He even stopped asking for a lighter to smoke, so he’d puff it unlit.

I think of all this heartache and I get so emotional. One minute your father is perfectly fine, and the next, he’s dying. You will never know when that moment comes, but you can see it and feel it so clearly, and there’s nothing to do but observe from a distance. That’s how I felt the entire time. I had nothing to give. I pushed myself away from my father, at his worst times, because I didn’t want to feel the pain. I regret that too. All he wanted was love from his family, and I feel like I wasn’t around enough for him. When I’d come to visit, I’d say my usual “Hi Dad!” then hurry to my sister’s room, and tune out the world.

There is just so much depression in my short story, and I want to apologize. I know it’s probably eating you from the inside, but this is how I have felt the entire time. Maybe, just maybe, I wrote this, so people could feel how we all have felt. The hurt, the agony, the anxiousness, the guilt, everything is there.

Days before Dad’s passing, he acted so much like a child. I walked into the room, to see him squirting water, from a toy pistol, at his grandkids. I laughed, as he handed me a gun, and whispered “Here, daughter, use this on Mike”. I proceeded to do the deed, as my father had a good chuckle. I miss how wacky and comical Dad was. How could a man like this, go through something so evil…? That night, before I left, I hugged Dad goodbye, and promised him I’d be back to visit. That was just three days, before he stopped talking all together.

The next visit, he couldn’t even move, anymore. His head was facing the wall, and he wasn’t speaking much. You could only get a groan out of him, at most. He had stopped eating weeks before, and now, wouldn’t even drink anything. He was bone thin, and you could see his ribs. The tattoo on his arm was wrinkled from his dangling skin. I frowned in anguish. The time was near. I could already see it for myself. I couldn’t believe how, in just three days, my father looked so undernourished. We couldn’t get a response from him. I talked calmly, but no answer. My sister offered him a chocolate nutrition shake, but he couldn’t even swallow anymore.

I walked to my sister’s bedroom, once more, silent. I stayed online as long as possible. I wrote a long letter to my dad, a few days back, of all the things I wanted to tell him. I asked my mom if I could read it to him, but I didn’t have the heart to. It was just too miserable. I didn’t want him to cry, I didn’t want him sad anymore. I folded the note up, and shoved it in my back pocket, as we headed for the door. Something told me, this was it. I quietly walked up to my dad, and told him goodbye, little did I know, it would be the final time I could. Just as we were walking outside, Mike stopped, and inaudibly gazed at Dad, for the last time. His breathing was slow, but full of effort, like he was having the most trouble. Mike’s concerned voice, made it perfectly clear, he knew my dad’s outcome. We walked outside, into the dark summer night, contemplating what would soon happen the next morning…

Chapter 7: Goodbye Dear Daddy

The next day, on June 30th of 2013, we were awakened by yet another phone call. I was half asleep while answering, but because it was my sister, I tried my hardest to focus. Mike yanked the phone from my palm, and listened. It was my sister’s boyfriend. I could hear him, from a distance, the tragic disaster that had occurred at 12pm. “Dad passed away a few minutes ago”. My heart came to a grinding halt. I didn’t know what to do or say. All I could do was listen. Listen and breathe. The day had finally come. I was indifferent for most of the conversation. Mike threw the phone on the bed, and yelled out in a frenzy. He was angry. I could see it.

We jumped in the jeep, and rode towards my sister’s. I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to see that. I didn’t want to know, Dad’s body was lying there, lifeless and cold. Halfway there, I got flashbacks of Dad, happy and well. I didn’t want to be on this planet anymore. I didn’t care for anything at that moment, except to see my dad one last time. I felt like I didn’t get to really say goodbye, because he didn’t respond to me, the night before. I SHOULD’VE been there more! I was his youngest, for crying out loud!

When we reached the house, time reduced speed. I felt like I was walking on the moon. As we inched our way inside, I could see my cousin getting out of her car. Why wasn’t she there for us when Dad was alive? I ignored the thought, sluggishly walking up the wooden porch. As I stepped inside, a black woman from hospice was sitting on the chair, next to Dad’s bed. I avoided Dad, darting my eyes to my mother. She looked surprisingly fine. No tears, no frown. She was calm and collected the entire time. I shook the black woman’s hand, and sat on the sofa, cattycorner to Dad. I had to look. If not, how could I ever forgive myself?

As I slowly turned my neck, my heart fell in my stomach. There was good ole Dad, motionless. His head was still in the same position as the night before. His body was covered with the white sheet that he slept with. It made it a bit easier to look. Every so often, I stared vacantly at him. Poor Daddy, I felt so uneasy. There was a calm silence in the room. The kids were next door, so they didn’t have to see their grandfather in that condition. My nephew was still sleeping in the bedroom, however, and knew nothing about the situation.

When he awoke, my sister saw him walking into the hallway, yawning drowsily. She stopped him in his path, and whispered something to him. I could see his eyes filling with tears, as he made his way back into the bedroom. My sister asked if I could talk with him. I agreed, and walked towards the room. He was sitting on the bed, balled up in a fetal position. I sat on the edge, and patted his back. He opened up, to grasp for a hug. I spoke softly.

“I bet you’re sad right now.” He nodded in agreement. “It’s okay to be sad. Grandpa is in a better place. He’s not suffering anymore. He has his eye back, and everything! He wouldn’t want you to cry.” I must’ve said the right words, because he sprawled out on the bed, breathed a heavy sigh, and turned on the TV, to drain out the sounds from the living room. I walked back into the den, telling my sister, all was well. She thanked me, and then I walked to her room, for some time to clear my thoughts.

A few minutes later, I progressed back into the living room. The preacher was here, to bless the family. We formed a circle, held hands, and bowed our heads in prayer. It made my eyes water, knowing this was really final. I didn’t want my dad taken away. I didn’t want him cremated, but it had to be done. It was his concluding wish, to be cremated, and his ashes spread in the mountains of his home state of New Mexico. He always used to tell us that, when he was alive and well. Everyone knew it. He always boasted about how awesome his state was, and how beautiful the mountains were.

The preacher hugged my family, and hospice left. It was yet another waiting game. The crematorium would be there in a couple hours, to take away my father. I was sincerely miserable. I walked back into my sister’s room, and opened Mike’s laptop. On YouTube, I watched a few videos, but something devious pulled me to watch a video of my dad and I, I had put online a few years back. I broke down bursting into tears, knowing my Dad was no longer with us, in the flesh. Here he was in this beautiful video, and now, it was forever a memorial. No longer a “Hey Dad, look at this! Remember?” He wasn’t here to respond. Mike tried hugging me, calming me down. I stopped the waterworks, but from that moment on, I looked at life differently.

Chapter 8: Realization

The men from the crematorium finally arrived, driving a little white van. I watched as they tagged my father’s leg like an animal. It made me queasy. Why do people have to do that right away? Don’t they have a vehicle for that? It drives me crazy every time I think about it. At that instant, I wished Dad would wake up, and punch them for being so inconsiderate. They blabbed about this and that, and got my mother to sign the legal papers. Why was I so nervous? Was it because Dad was being dragged away, and returned to us in a little colorful vase? Probably. Either way, my sister instructed me to leave, so I didn’t have to watch as they took away Dad. I walked outside, into the bright afternoon. Despite it being summer, it was shockingly chilly out. The leaves were blowing dizzily around the ground, as I crunched them under my feet.

After about half an hour of waiting, they began luring the gurney, down the stairs, into the van. The vehicle doors slammed, and I watched, in misery as my dad’s body rode away into the distance. It was over. It was officially… over. I walked back up the stairs, into the house. All was quiet, once more. I gazed emptily at my father’s bed. I had no words. I already missed him, but that’s all it would ever be. That was the beginning of my endless void.

A few days later, was his funeral service. I had written a long genuine speech, in honor of him. We had the memorial at a small church, just up the road from my sister’s house. Only a handful of people came, mostly relatives, some friends. In spite of it all, it was a very beautiful service. As the preacher spoke his Holy words, I observed my tiny niece, run up and down the aisles of the church. Dad loved her dearly. She loved dad. She was his baby, and she knew it. I think Dad was watching her, smiling from above, while she ran merrily through the long corridors, contently.

As I got up for my speech, a lump formed in my throat, but I swallowed, and carried on. My speech was a supportive one. I explained about the Ripple Effect, that I had read from a recent book, how our life lessons, personalities, and anything else, is rippled into our ancestors, for years to come. Everyone loved my speech, even my brother. He said he didn’t want it to end. Despite how badly I felt, I wanted everyone in the room, to be comfortable with everything.

After the ceremony, everyone walked to the front of the room, and wrote a few tender messages, on a handful of blue balloons, for Dad. I wrote what I needed, and walked to my mother. She was miserably crying. Her tears kept coming down, as she sobbed into her friend’s sleeve. I felt so empathetic for her. I wished, more than anything, that she was happy again. Everyone walked outside, ready to send the balloons on their way. Pictures were taken from all sides. The helium-filled memos, drifted above the soaring skies, until they were just little aqua specks. We all said our farewells, and everyone departed, going their separate ways.

Back at my sister’s house, we had a supper for the guests. That day was prolonged and unforgettable. Even though so many people came, that void was still there, clear as day. I kept staring at the empty spot where my dad’s bed once was. Such a quiet, haunting reminder, that he wasn’t enjoying the meal with us. Night came, and a few friends left, yet it was still loud and uncalled-for. Mom was sitting at the table, crying away. I felt so terrible, even though I know I did nothing. I hugged her tightly, and told her the truth. Dad was watching over us now. Dad was still here in spirit, even though we couldn’t see him. We were being selfish, wanting him here. He was no longer in pain. Nothing seemed to work. The tears kept falling from her dampened cheeks. There was nothing anyone could say to her. Hours later, she finally fell asleep, and we left. Days passed, and we began getting paranormal things happening to us, all around. I finally realized Dad wasn’t finished talking with us…

Chapter 9: Afterlife

For a month, Dad’s body lay at the crematorium, waiting to become ashes. It felt like eternity. 4th of July came and went. Everyday made me sad. I didn’t care what holiday it was. As I watched the loud boom from the fireworks, my mind kept replaying the same thing. Dad’s not here to watch with us this year. Finally, around the end of July, my sister sent me a text message; she was going to pick up Dad. I was working at the time, so couldn’t tag along. After a few hours, another message popped up in my phone. As I stared back at the image of the tiny red backpack, carrying my dad’s remains, another heavy sigh came from my mouth, yet another point of no turning back. This little blue urn was holding, the most precious father in the world. All I could think was “If Dad wanted to come back from the afterlife, he surely can’t now.” It was an odd feeling, thinking of his poor being, burning into nothingness. The soft hands we all knew and loved, turned into little dust fragments. Was I overthinking? I didn’t know. All I could do was chant the same words over and over… “Death is inevitable. Death is inevitable.”

A few weeks passed, and I invited my fragile mother, to a local karaoke bar, to get her mind off things. We were supposed to meet her there, but ended up a little late. When we got in the small, overcrowded parking lot, I noticed the inside of my mom’s car lights on. Suspiciously, I hopped out of Mike’s jeep, and slowly inched my way towards the car, thinking my mother was waiting inside it. When I got to her driver’s side window, I touched the cold glass, and the light shut off. As I stepped back dazed and confused, I ran to Mike and told him everything.

Inside the bar, I jogged up to mom. “Hey momma, how long have you been waiting in here?” I asked. “Probably 20 minutes, why?” I stared in shock, telling her the story. She gasped, and simply said “Dad’s here with us. He’s got to be.” Then, a few moments later, Mom and I were sitting side by side. She had her feet propped up in the chair across from her. We were talking about Dad, when all of a sudden, the chair started shaking sideways. She looked underneath the table, thinking it was me. My feet were nowhere near hers, so I couldn’t have done anything. It continued shaking, as my mother stared in awe. “There’s Dad again! “, replied my mom. Later on, we went outside, because my mom couldn’t hear my sister on the phone, with the loud blaring music. As soon as she stepped outside, I looked directly at her car, probably to see what other wild things would happen. Her car headlights flashed, followed by a honk. We both looked at each other in astonishment. Her keys were inside the bar, with Mike! I ran inside, found him, and again, told him what happened. He was sitting there the entire time. The keys had to have been, as close as 50 feet, for it to honk. It had to have been Daddy. We all just knew it.

A few more weeks passed, and things began getting even stranger. My sister told me her amazing story:

“I was watching TV with Mom, when Kyle (her boyfriend) ran from the bedroom, and threw his phone at me. He looked scared. The phone was playing ‘Wake Me When September Ends’ by Green Day. He explained, he was playing videogames, when it randomly started playing. He hadn’t even touched it at all!”

I looked up the lyrics online, to only find something magnificent. The singer of the band’s father died of cancer, when he was young. He made the song in honor of him. We were speechless! And when my sister and her boyfriend got in a fight a few days after, his phone went off again. This time, it was a text message, to his job’s phone number. Sprawled in black and white were the words “Work it out”. How on Earth could that have happened? Nobody messed with the phone. He simply turned it on, and it popped up. I was dumfounded, until it happened to me…

I was at home alone, waiting for Mike to arrive from work. It was about 11am. Every so often, I would glance at my father’s photo, propped up near the front door. Then I got this thought that just randomly popped in my head. I remembered when my niece was small; I had recorded a video of her on my phone, playing with my foot. I also remembered that very same video, my Dad spoke to her. I quickly ran to the bedroom, seized my old cell from underneath the bowels of the bed, and yanked the SD card from it. After placing it into my current device, I waited for the electronically useless nonsense to proceed, and clicked the gallery app. What was about to happen, would bring me to my knees…

            I scrolled through the photos, until I found it. As I was about to click, my phone buzzed and began playing ‘So Close, So Far’ by Hoobastank. My eyes filled with tears, and I began sobbing. I couldn’t stop! I smiled, as the lyrics floated into my skull. The beautiful miracle that happened to my sister, was now happening to me! I listened until the song finished, and that was that. No other songs played. I immediately called my sister and told her everything. She told my mother, and the next thing I knew, we were all excitedly laughing. When they hung up, I went out into the patio. When out of nowhere, I heard the song blaring from my pocket. When I pulled it out, I grinned once more, and ran to get my camera. I then made a cheesy video, screaming and yelling at my phone, as the song finished. It was incredible. I could even play a song, as the song was playing! It was as if, the song wasn’t using the music player at all! It happened 3 times, and never happened again…

The final time that my dad tried making contact, Mike and I were about to fall asleep. When out of nowhere, we heard three distinct claps from the bathroom. We froze in horror, contemplating what we just perceived. “Did you just hear that?!” We both groaned in terror. I quickly grabbed my cellphone, calling my sister once more. My mother calmed us down enough to investigate. As I walked into the bathroom, I looked to the floor. Mike’s deodorant was randomly positioned on the area rug.

At first I didn’t think anything of it, but then I remembered. Dad used to wear that same deodorant…

Chapter 10: Closure?

So it’s been four months without Dad. It’s not the same. I’m sure holidays will be terrible. We’ll cry, we’ll scream. We’ll ball up our fists in anger, wanting him back again. Sometimes I honestly forget he’s gone, and when I realize it, I become disappointed. I’ve had terrible dreams of Dad. Whether they’re real or not, I question it. I’ve always felt like Dad wasn’t going to be here for very long. Sure, people don’t last forever, but I’m only twenty-two. I feel like, because I was so young, I didn’t get to do the things I wanted, with Dad. He will never walk me down the aisle on my wedding day. He will never kiss me goodbye on my first day of college. He will never meet my future children. He will never tell me how proud he is of me, as I grow into a successful woman.

People that take advantage of their parents are truly selfish. Our mother and father have been through everything imaginable, to get us where we are today. How insensitive can these teenagers be? And maybe they’re not even teens anymore. Maybe there’s grown men and women out there that have thrown their parents to the wind, because they’re old now, because it’s hard taking care of them. Why? Do you think for one moment, that their parents would do the same, if they were tough to manage? Nope. I think not.

I’m grateful my mother’s still here. I love her to death. I can only imagine the pain and suffering she goes through every day, because her husband passed. They were married over 40 years. How can a person say goodbye to someone, after knowing them for so long? My mother is the strongest person I know. She’s helped me grow into the person I am, today. I’d like to thank her from the bottom of my heart. I do hope you have learned something from this story. To never take advantage of anyone, because you just may choke on your own heart. Honor your Mother and Father, and please remember…

~”Treat your parents with loving care, for you will only know their value, when you see their empty chair.”~