I miss Papa every single day since his passing. I don’t think I’ll ever get to heal completely from this wound he has left me.
It’s funny how I terribly miss, not only all the good things about him, but also those that I can’t stop arguing with him about. I mean, I would take another day of argument with my Papa just to see him breathing alive today.
He died once from this despicable disease but I died many times more, probably humanely impossible for me to count— every time I saw him fought hard while this disease slowly took his life force away from him.
I may have a lot of better Dad-figures or Papa-role models in mind which most people would like to peg as “goals”, but I only have one father. I don’t live in an ideal world (much to our dismay and wishful thinking or if-only’s), I live in the real one. I still prefer an imperfect Papa, but a real one. It’s through the cracks of his imperfections that he was able to accept my imperfections, as well.
I felt a sudden gentle breeze
and recognized in a single whiff
your favorite perfume.
Brought me back in an instant
to that one fateful morning.
I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.
I never wanted to let you go so soon.
Felt like you were stolen away from me,
But Death, doesn’t play fair.
Was it selfish of me
To ask you not to let go
If surviving for you
Felt like dying on a slow-mo?
Sometimes, I still get drown
In the ocean of what-ifs
And in the bottomless well
Of what-more-could-I-have-dones
But Death, doesn’t play fair.
Is living this life without you
The “new normal”?
This is repulsively abnormal!
Everything’s new here
But nothing feels normal.
I’m getting used to this knife
Stuck into my chest
Even if I’m writhing in pain
I don’t want to
Remove it, anyway.
I’m curious about a lot of things.
What did you see
as you close your eyes
& breathe your last?
Did Lolo and Lola hold your hands
and walk with you to the other side?
Have you seen the twins?
Have you heard the angels sing?
What does God really look like?
I also wonder
Is this humanity’s checkmate?
Are we all just buying time?
Are our days already numbered
in the palm of His Hand?
Are we all in denial of our fate
Disguised as vitriol complaints?
Are we at the promising break of a new dawn?
Or in the shadowless cusp of pure nightfall?
I cannot go back and relive
All the what-ifs and what-could-have-beens.
Truth be told,
I cannot revive anyone there,
Where nothing beats,
Nothing moves, and
Nothing changes.
I don’t want to live on a flatline.
I don’t want to live my days on a death sentence.
While my number hasn’t been called yet,
I’ll hold the present as a precious gift and
I’ll keep breathing.
Knowing that a part of you lives in me
And in my memories
I’ll keep breathing.
Knowing that you still reside
In my broken and bruised heart
I’ll keep breathing.
“Papa’s Eternal Rest” by AngelicaEH
Your father must be smiling at you right now from up above.