I am not looking for anyone’s sympathy. I don’t expect anyone to understand. I’m writing this story because when I feel suffocated, writing seems to help often. 

Someday, all of us will lose a parent/parents. If you’re fortunate, you’ll die before them or with them, but unfortunate souls like me have had to face the agony of that pain at a young age.

Three years ago, I was woken up at 8 am, to discover I no more had a father.

To this day, I dread Sunday mornings. I have this irrational fear of Sunday mornings bringing bad news. I make sure I go meet my mother even if it’s just for 5 minutes every night and particularly on a Saturday night because I am so scared of history repeating itself. 

Do you know what it feels like when you go to sleep knowing you have a doting father and you awaken to a dead one? The world comes to a standstill. You feel like you’re inside a nightmare. Every morning you have to convince yourself that this is your new reality and you’ve got to deal with it. He isn’t coming back, no matter how much you cry. You start thinking of all the times you’ve been a pathetic daughter. Your mind starts drifting off to dark places. In a weak moment, I wished my mother died because I couldn’t see her in so much pain. It is time for Daddy’s little girl to finally grow up.

Sometimes, I even forget he’s not there anymore. That fleeting moment passes, and when reality bites, it feels like the air has been knocked out of me, every single time. I see him in dreams sometimes and life seems perfect again, but you again wake up to the nightmare called reality. 

People are going to hover all around, wanting to know what happened, how did it happen? Give them the middle finger. No one should be given the permission to put salt on your wounds. People are going to sit and chat, behave as if it’s a social gathering. You cannot do anything about it. I just don’t want them anywhere near my mother. People say so many cruel things; like how this was bound to happen because he was an alcoholic and a chain smoker. They tell you how you should/could have made him quit smoking. I wish it had been easy.

No one’s going to tell you I am here for you. No one’s going to tell you that it’s okay to cry. They’re going to give to tell you things like life goes on, be strong, etc. Life goes on for everyone else, not for you and your family. Life will never be the same again. NEVER!

He used to tell me not to cry because each tear of mine is worth a million bucks and in these two years, I’ve wasted millions & millions of them because they are of no value anymore. You’ll slowly learn how to cry silently all night long; in fact, you’ll master putting on the act. You’ll stop talking about him altogether because it feels too sacred and also because you don’t know how to control these damn emotions!

When you talk to new people, you will talk about him as if he’s still alive. They don’t need to know and you need to keep him alive somehow. What doesn’t kill you makes you use such coping mechanisms. Hearing the word “papa” will kill you every single time, and having to use it for someone else will feel wrong.

More than anything, you’re going to feel so lonely because you’ve got to protect your loved ones from your own misery.

You’re going to feel suicidal, you’re going to feel as if you can hear him talking to you; you’re going to feel anything but normal! Yet you’re going to laugh, go for movies, eat out, travel, visit a salon, you’re going to do everything, but what’s in your mind and heart is yours and yours alone.

Every little thing possessed by him or given to you by him will become all the more special, no matter how silly or hypocritical it may sound. People are going to tell you they understand but no one really does, until it actually happens to you. They won’t even let you mourn in peace and in your own way, let alone understand. You will hate this world and its ways even more. You’ll know who’s true and who’s fake. You will become bitter about everything. Sometimes you’ll cry so much that you won’t be able to breathe. 
You’ll think of all those times he wanted you to be with him but you chose to do something else, and you’ll be filled with regret.

You’ll eventually grow up, even though people may not agree, but it’s only you who is privy to the truth. And you will accept the fact that your fairy tale in which you were the princess, no more exists. Daddy’s little girl is little no more. 

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