Where is papa?

The following text was adapted from Spanish to English, a small piece of writing that today I write and dedicate to my father, I hope the reader can feel my words as their own, and enjoy the words that were born from the contrast of an inner child that lives in the soul of every adult.

I have been filled with his absence,

of his deep absent love,

of the transcendence of his love,

and of the countless stars that see me,

I want to believe that, in one of them, there is him.

he, my father, who unwillingly departed.

Sirius witnessed my turbulent growing up,

Betelgeuse was saddened to see me fall,

Aldebaran watched my heart break.

The child grew longing for his love,

found only cactus in his heart.

He deeply longed for his company,

loneliness and abandonment he felt day by day.

13 lines is only a vague half of what I want to tell you today, 13 is half of the years you were when you had to leave, and 26 is the years I just turned today. You have been so magical that even in "absence" you have loved me, I have seen and heard your love in mom's speech, in my grandmother's eyes, and in my aunt's stories. I understand that the universe teaches us different ways to learn to love, but, no way of loving has cost me more than this, more than ours.

The calendar said 1999, and my mouth said. Where is papa? The adults looked sad and I only wanted papa, I have a null memory of the day when I understood that your hands would not keep me company in life, that your eyes would not watch me, and your feet would not be my guide. How can a child of 20 months understand that now they are alone with mommy? Many years had to pass to understand our new way of loving, many tears of sadness ran for me to heal; many times I thought of the unfair life and the inopportune time that did not let us coexist.

I turned 6 years old, I watched several children playing with their dads, and again at 6 years old I asked Where is papa? -Dad won't be back," someone answered; and I dreamed of someday seeing you arrive.

I turned 12, I didn't know how to shave, I wanted you to teach me, and this time I asked myself Where is papa? -Dad is not coming back," I answered myself; My dream had been overshadowed by reality.

I turned 16, I was about to graduate, you weren't there to celebrate, in tears filled with uncertainty I cried out to God Where is papa? -Dad is not coming back," I answered myself again.

I turned 20, I lived in depression and anxiety; I still did not understand where you were, but, for the first time I accepted that I was suffering for dad and crying for dad; at that moment of my life, I knew that I had to heal.

At 21, I still refused to accept your loss; at 22, I was full of anger with life; at 23, I imagined going back to the past to have saved you; at 24, I allowed myself to live the deep sadness, and at 25, I learned to heal. Today I turned 26, the years you were when you left my life; understanding today that there is a transcendental form of love, for love is a force that never leaves. Your physical absence has not been a vague vestige of companionship because I find you in stories, in a song, in a heart.

I have this vague idea of a reunion someday, in which a hug will break this strange reality. Someday not needing a photo to see your face, someday not hearing that song to be able to listen to you, someday not only loving you in a transcendental way, but feeling you present and finally changing this unusual way of loving, tears for smiles to be able to change, and your life and mine can coexist under the same reality of our mutual company.

Meanwhile, I'll still be content to look at you in the stars.