When I Think of My Dad…
Anaya Michelle Wilson
anawil1018@gmail.com
346-857-3583
19 years old
1,090 words
When I Think of My Dad…
When I think of my father, the pressure grows slow in my chest. My breath stops in more than one place and suddenly a hush that wasn’t there before is back. I am smart enough to understand that beginnings do not arrive as gently as one would typically assume, but what I am struggling to understand is the meaning of endings. I am currently writing from that place of fog.
When my dad passed away, nothing was bright. The morning after illustrates my grief perfectly-as it is the only thing that can repeat itself in my head. It felt like a shadow was walking past me and once the light tried to return in uncertain patterns, I’ll think of him again. Where the light doesn’t display outright, the darkness begins to speak. The scariest part about that shadow is that it leans so close and will force you to listen with more than just your ears. The voices aren’t neat chords; they arrive in the form of strong winds blowing you away, rain crashing down on a pavement, and a siren that sounds so close despite being distant. My light was now being diminished by the shadow of grief. This shadow following me around everywhere since that day resulted in an internal battle between all of my emotions. Anxiety and somber constantly fight to be felt while joy is struggling to dig up after being buried deep inside of me.
Nothing is simple, in fact, my path lacks a source of light. The shadow is still lingering. I honestly didn’t predict how far this would carry. The sluggish way I wake up, how anxious I move throughout the day, and my fear of the future is only one of many notable changes in my life. I miss him every day and I miss how life felt with him here. Once my day begins, I constantly think about the night his life ended and how the rest of us given the path of hitting reset, living, and then rest to do it all over again tomorrow. My father will never have another chance to hear me tell him good morning once the sound of my alarm buzzes. He won’t have the chance to see the rest of my milestones, what I promised to accomplish in university, and see me dance on stage or in the open space of our dining room. Sadly, I will never be granted the privilege to have another provider, protector, and educator like my dad. I am trying to figure out how to put an ending on my anxiety, intrusive thoughts, and compulsions while also attempting to wrap up the academic semester. The ordinary is a thing of the past for me; I am deep in grief and yet I am promising myself to keep moving through an environment that fosters my generation’s futures. My grief continues to demand being listened to. There isn’t a moment where that shadow is being ignored.
Consequently, I struggle to find the in-between and try to make the most out of my day, but when I’m not sleeping at random hours or choosing to escape my emotions by wasting my time with distractions, I think of my dad and must remind myself that he’s really gone. However, there are some moments when it feels like my dad never left. I’ll randomly hear his laugh that was so loud the vibrations from it were felt every time or sing a song that he would’ve sung only he would be singing off-key. This is when the light speaks to me, simply imagining him and keeping his warm spirit alive. Any subliminal that speaks to me and is loud enough to hold my attention for the day, I believe that it’s my dad talking to me. What’s so special about it is that these messages are shown in ways that were unique to his personality. Whenever I receive the message, I write it down so that it is always with me.
Writing has always been a part of my life. It has been one of my favorite hobbies and sometime my outlet to express my feelings. Personally, my isn’t poetic or romantic, in my opinion writing doesn’t diminish grief. However, it provides me with something to grasp and illuminate. In a way, letting my emotions speak through characters on paper helps me see my grief for what it really is-a reflection of how privileged I was for a father like him. While my grief is unlike anything in this world, my writing is my truth. When my truth is expressed and untamed, the light speaks even louder. I am reclaiming a part of myself amongst the chaos of my emotions and daily struggles in an honest way. The truth is, my grief is relentless, but it is raw. I can write for hours about only one of many honorable qualities that my father was blessed to have and the best part about it is I don’t have to worry about it being beautiful. To me, it’s about revealing what is real although dealing with losing a parent is unbearable, it is something that I carry with me. When I am done writing about the subliminal messages I received from my father, it brightens me up instantly. Now suddenly, the day seems survivable as if I were living my life on life’s terms while still honoring my dad.
All in all, I am writing this because I am choosing not to keep my emotions bottled up. I want to acknowledge my grief as a part of me now, not separately. I wish I could stop myself from turning 19, I could be free of pain and despair right now. However, to miss my my dad more than words can express means that I am loved. I will never take that for granted. As I embark on this uncertain chapter of my life, the light says to me “learn what the darkness has been trying to tell you all along,” and then my father reassures me by subliminally letting me know that he will “follow me from the moon and the sky above.” In case my father decides to make himself known at any point in time, I would tell him that I am honored to be the keeper of his story and saying that brightens up my life in cohesion with the darkness that I carry every single day.