The first thing that comes to mind after losing someone years later is I wish they could come back, to be with me one more time. Obviously throughout the years I wished this for my father but I don’t anymore. I’m okay with him dying when he did. It sounds awful but hear me out. He died when my world revolved around mommy and daddy, when they were the most important persons in my life. I was a super daddys and mommys girl, I loved my parents and still do so much. When he died, he died being the world’s best dad, perfect to me in every way, and that’s how I remember him now. I have 10 years of amazing memories that has kept me through the last 13 without him. I honestly can’t think of any bad memories of my daddy, that’s why I’m glad he passed when he did.
He passed before I got the chance of going through teenage angst and hating everyone, before my youthful emotional struggle. He never told me he didn’t like my boyfriend or that I couldn’t wear that. He never gave me a reason to be angry at him. I always wondered why every time I thought of my dad I would get giddy inside and mentally express the love for him in a childish way, it’s because that’s the only time and way I know to love him, through my former 10 year old self. By only having those memories of him I put him on a pedestal as the best man to probably ever walk the earth next to Jesus. In my eyes no man can ever be as good as my father especially when it came on to his daughter, he really did love me. But this could have been all wrong.
He could have been the worst person, an awful husband, a horrid friend and a dismal father in reality, I wouldn’t know. His presence was enough to mentally stimulate happiness in a young child, for all I know he barely cared for me and the memories that I have are super exaggerated but propelled through the hurt of such a sudden tragic loss. My family was a nuclear family, mommy, daddy, daughter, son. Maybe if he was alive today we would have split up for whatever reason, spending this holiday with daddy and some b*tch I’m sure I wouldn’t like (no one is more amazing than my mother). Or they’d still be married and living in a less than fun home where no one loves anyone, unlike my family today. To me it’s better he died when he did because he has been immortalised in my life.
None of my friends know him, but all of my friends know of him. You guys don’t know him but if you read more you can see the kind of man he was. He died leaving me fabulous memories and I’m okay with that. My boyfriend politely puts it, he died before he could fuck it up with me. My brother doesn’t have much memories but he remembers what he can and there are always stories and pictures for him if he wants when he’s ready. You won’t understand unless you’ve gone through it, but I can feel him there with me. Sometimes I get strong feelings of him and right before my birthday, May 31 7:50 p.m I felt him. He played a song for me telling me happy early birthday “butterfly kisses after bedtime prayer, sticking little white flowers all up in her hair… In all that I’ve done wrong, I must have done something right, to deserve hugs every morning and butterfly kisses every night” I heard the song and envisioned him kissing me on my cheek and I cried. He died before seeing major events in my life but I have come to peace without my hugs and butterfly kisses at night.
“Sorry I’ve missed your 23rd”
“I understand, It’s not your fault.”
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