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My Father's Resting Place.

Written by 90210

By 90210Published 3 years ago 4 min read
1

On a cold night in March, my father and I talked for hours. It wasn’t often that we did this. Not to say we didn’t talk, but the subject matter wasn’t typical. I won’t state what was said explicitly, because that’s between him and me, and will stay between us for as long as we live probably. I will say it touched me. There were things I learned that night that I never knew before, but will always be with me going forward. I almost felt guilty in a way. There were a lot of times during our conversation that instead of listening to what he was saying, I was thinking to myself, “Should I know this?”. It all felt very foreign. I’m sure he felt the same way.

In the snap of a finger, it was all over. I found myself back in that familiar, dark room. Flat across a soft surface, wondering what was in store for me once the birds sang again. I spoke to god before passing out, which is weird because I haven’t been inside of church doors for years now. I haven’t even read more than ten pages in the bible, if that. I believe in God for the most part but there are questions for everything. I’ve had too many personal experiences to believe in nothing, though. Experiences that didn’t make sense. That felt like more of me being given a chance, than just sheer luck. I don’t want to touch on religion or how I feel about religion too much though, simply because I just don’t feel like it. Eventually, everything finds its course.

Months later, he died. I remember going to, and coming home from the church, but I don't remember anything else. I don't remember standing in front of his lifeless body. I don't remember crying. I certainly don't remember talking to anybody. Although I'm sure many people came up to me and apologized for my loss, and gave their condolences, or said a quick prayer in my ear. I remember the rest of the day, pretty clearly. I didn't do anything, so it's not difficult to remember. I laid in bed and tried to make myself fall asleep, but I couldn't.

Next thing you know, it was dark. It was night, and I was wide awake. Left alone with my thoughts for the next six-or-so hours. Time went by and I thought a lot. My thinking slowly turned into a dwelling. Eventually, my dwelling turned into a breakdown. I finally fell victim to my emotions. I tried my hardest not to cry because my father didn't. Or at least, I never saw him cry before. He was too strong of a man for that, too prideful. I saw him as a bull.

Everything became a chore. Things just felt so demanding. The simplest tasks; it would take me hours just to get out of bed. I finally left the house, after almost four weeks had passed. I didn't want to go anywhere, but I felt like I needed to. I don't know why. Passing green lights. Not knowing where I was going. I was just letting life carry me on. I went to a park, and I just stayed there. I didn't bring my phone, or a book, or anything really. I didn't feel like I needed to. I'm not much of a nature person either, but it was something about that place. I felt my father's presence when I was there. It frightened me.

Time went by.

Days.

Weeks.

Months.

Rain.

Sunshine.

In a way, I felt myself getting farther away from him. Funny enough, I started to forget about him. I continued on, just as life does. I grew, physically, and mentally. I learned things. I got a new job. I met new people. Life happened. It wasn't until a year after, that I was brought back to stage zero.

Something felt off that day, but for the life of me, I couldn't figure it out. I went to class, went to work, came home, and studied. As I was making revisions to a new essay I'd just written days before, I received a call from my mother. I picked up and when I heard her speak, she sounded sorrowful. Defeated even. I asked her what was wrong and her response immediately froze me.

"Don't you know what today is?"

I dropped the phone and fell down to my knees. I let out a yell. A yell that came strictly from my stomach. A yell filled with nothing but hurt. I couldn't shake him. I couldn't shake the feeling. I thought I'd finally gotten over everything but I wasn't strong enough. An unexplainable loop. I curled up on the ground and cried for hours. It felt as if a shadow was towering over me the entire night. I suddenly didn't want to heal anymore. I wanted to bask in grief. I wanted to become one with the pain that was beaming through my entire body.

More than anything, I wanted my father.

grief
1

About the Creator

90210

"foot and hand on the gates."

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