Three years ago I was on the verge of culminating my master’s degree. Three years ago I was being “dumped” by my university besties on account of being too toxic. Three years and five days ago, my father passed away unexpectedly from a stroke. No one had seen it coming, yet it couldn’t have been more obvious. You see my dad had been a diabetic as well as a hypertense individual for a long time. You’d think he’d take of himself, but other than going out for walks and bike rides, he didn’t do much about it. He would often not take his pills or decide that natural remedies would work.
You see my father believed in the supernatural, in shamans and witches, as many people in Latin America do. He was a happy-go-lucky individual, doing what he loved for as long as he could and believing his time would come no matter what he did or didn’t do. When his time did come, we weren’t speaking, we hadn’t done so since I moved to Taiwan and that will forever be one of my greatest regrets. Though I know, he loved me and he knew I loved him, we were just too stubborn to make amends and now it’s too late.
You’d think that after three years grief got easier, and I guess in a way it does, but when it comes back, it hits you with such a force that it feels as if you can’t breathe. With his death came a fear of losing other loved ones, and wondering if I’d be able to take it. I often worry about my mother and brother leaving me and I can’t even bear to imagine it. Dark, I know… But life often is, isn’t it?
