Dad

Three years ago, on this very day in 2021, my life took a turn I never expected. My dad, was hospitalized due to an unexpected illness. At just 21, I found myself standing at the edge of a storm, clueless and vulnerable, questioning everything: Is this really happening? What do I do now? How do I hold us together?

In that moment, I realized that I couldn’t afford to crumble—I had to be the anchor my mom needed. While I longed for the comfort of a sibling’s bond to share my pain, I knew my strength would have to come from within.

Fifty days later, on February 8, 2021, my dad passed away. It felt unreal, like a bad dream we couldn’t wake up from. My mom and I had braced ourselves to care for him for the rest of his life, but life had other plans.

Losing him changed everything. 2021 wasn’t just a year—it was a battlefield of trauma. And let me tell you, trauma isn’t just a trending word; it’s a shadow that lingers in your everyday life. I became an expert in instability, carrying its weight like a second skin. Each day taught me to adapt to chaos, to face questions about my choices, and to fend off those who tried to control our lives simply because there was “no man in the family.”

But amidst the darkness, I learned profound truths:

• Loneliness is a strength—it teaches you to stand tall without leaning on anyone.

• Trauma can be a shield—it transforms pain into resilience.

• Human connections can be fragile—not all are built on kindness, and some will test your boundaries.

I turned away from dependence, not out of bitterness but out of necessity. Unstable didn’t mean broken; it meant I was navigating life without a guide, learning to chart my own path.

Losing a father may seem like just another story to the world, but for me, it was the crucible that forged who I am. At 25 now, I look back and thank my dad and God for letting me walk this path. It taught me life’s rawest lessons:

• Happiness is fleeting—seven days at most—but peace comes from within.

• Kindness is a choice—extend it where it’s deserved, but guard your heart.

• Family isn’t everything—human connections, even the closest ones, can sometimes hurt more than heal.

• Crying isn’t weakness—it’s a release, a way to shatter and rebuild stronger.

I’ve learned to respect people as humans, not judge them for their flaws, and to use my words carefully—words can wound deeper than actions. I strive to be a peacemaker in my own life, to act with consciousness and grace.

The loss of my father exposed the demons around me, but it also revealed the light within me. Yes, I miss him every single day. But his absence has been my greatest teacher, pushing me to confront unimaginable grief and grow through it.

To anyone who has walked through pain, I won’t tell you “you’re not alone.” Instead, I’ll say this: You are strong. You are resilient. Like gold refined in fire, your struggles are shaping you into something precious—far more valuable than unpolished stones scattered on the ground.

So cry if you must, shatter if you must. It’s okay. There’s courage in letting yourself break, for it is in those cracks that hope begins to grow.

Peace, love, and strength to all who walk this path.