It Still Hurts But It’s Okay

The gaping void left by my father’s disappearance is a shadow that has followed me for half my life. More than a decade has passed since his last phone call – a call filled with promises of return and stories of success, echoing with the tangible excitement of a teenage girl, oblivious to the pain that the next day would bring. That memory, preserved in the pristine glass case of my mind, is a stark reminder of the chasm that was left behind. The father-shaped hole in my life was not merely a void, it was a crater – a sinkhole of love, guidance, and support that got swallowed up by the unpredictability of life. Over time, his voice, once a soothing lullaby, has slowly been lost to the wind, only his tranquil image remaining to bring a bitter-sweet mix of joy and melancholy.

Life has forced me to relive the excruciating pain of those early weeks – a shipwrecked father lost to the depths of the ocean – while at the same time holding onto a naive springtime hope of his return. An acquired skill through these years has been to hide my sadness behind a mask of normalcy. While I want to accept his loss and move on, guilt claws at me, questioning my right to be free from sorrow. Isn’t this pain a testimony to my love? The mental image of him battling against the ferocious storm-tossed waves, gasping for breath, torments me. I find myself asking the universe, “Why him?” His magnetic personality, his likable character, his inherent goodness – why did it all end in such a tragedy? Maybe if he had been a different man, his loss would have been easier to digest.

His body, never recovered, left me grappling with the unfathomable depths of grief at a time when most teenagers are learning about life, love, and friendship. In the face of this unjust reality, I unwittingly befriended grief, allowing it to shape me, mold me, and even define me. It led me down paths I had no intention of treading – from an innocent churchgoing daughter to a secret alcoholic, desperate to drown the pain. Somehow, I managed to survive those turbulent years, even managing to earn the degree my father had chosen for me, a silent tribute to his dreams.

Looking back, I’m surprised I’m here, writing about the pain that I’ve carried with me. My faith in God, though tested and almost broken, is what kept me going. I felt betrayed and abandoned, but perhaps this was His way of equipping me for the challenges life had in store. The pain of losing my father taught me lessons in resilience, recovery, and letting go. It taught me to heal from severed relationships, find strength in abandonment, and cherish the lessons learned from a painful past. I’ve cursed God and questioned Him, but I’ve also seen His kindness through it all.

The sting of my father’s absence remains potent. Days of joy are tinged with the regret of his absence. Times of turmoil have me yearning for his comforting presence. His loss, particularly the brutal manner of it, still rankles me. Yet, God’s kindness has been a balm, reminding me of my father’s love – a love so profound that it soothes the ache of his absence. I wish he could have seen the woman I’ve become, the resilience I’ve developed, and the strength I’ve gained. His absence, his lack of a goodbye, remains a regret.

This pain, as much as I wish it to end, is my tether to him. I fear that letting go of the pain would mean forgetting him. I want him to know, wherever he is, that he is missed and that while I couldn’t save him from his tragic fate, his memory will live on in my heart.

To those who’ve recently experienced loss, please hold on. The pain you feel is a testament to your love. Allow yourself to grieve, to find strength in solitude. Keep going for the people who still need you. Share your pain, talk to God, and write about it. Despite the hurt, remember that you are blessed. You may be weathering a storm now, but remember, after the rain, the sun will always shine.