It’s been two years. Two years since my father died.
I remember it like it happened just a moment ago. One day my life was on a certain path, and then it suddenly came to a screeching halt.
To be honest, a part of me has been stuck in 2012. It’s my own fault. I’ve made myself incapable of moving on.
What can I say? I’m a masochist.
It’s not the actual loss of my father that has caused my suffering. Thankfully, that part has gotten easier to accept. It’s the thought of what’s coming that continues to devastate me, and what he won’t be there for.
He won’t be there for anything, at least not physically. He wasn’t there to watch me graduate from college. He won’t walk my sister and I down the aisle. (Granted, I probably won’t have a wedding. I’m not that type of girl.) He won’t get to meet his grandchildren.
I know he’ll be present — even if it’s just his spirit — but I still want him to be there. I want to see his big smile. I want to hear him crack another joke. I want to see that creepy mustache again.
I’ve harbored an intense hatred towards fate these past two years. Life’s just not fair. At all. I can’t change what’s happened and I can’t change what’s going to happen, but those realizations haven’t helped ease any of my anger and grief.
The one thought that petrifies me most is that I’m going to forget him.
You start to notice the importance of memories when you lose someone you love, but it hits you even harder when you didn’t have the chance to grow up. Start your own life. Find out who you really are.
The first and only thing that pops into my head when I think of him is silly, but it’s important. “Da Way Way,” he would say to me every time he saw me.
“Way Way” was his nickname for me. I have no idea where he got it from, but it managed to stick. I can remember him saying it clear as day. His voice always a little playful, but always earnest.
My life has changed immensely over the past two years. I’ve graduated, gotten a job and I’m now living in New York City. I’d be lying if I said the move has been easy. It’s been hard. Extremely hard.
I’ve had many mini-breakdowns. I’ve cried on the phone to my mom countless times. New York doesn’t hold back. This city can be terrifyingly lonely. But I’ve discovered another side to my resilience that I had no idea that I had.
My mom found the birthday card he gave me for my 20th birthday, just a little over two months before his death. In the card, he wrote, “You will always be my star.”
Dad, I’m going to make you proud.
I’ll never move on. But I will move forward.