When a Chapter Ends

It’s been more than two months since my father died. I’d be lying if I say I didn’t see it coming. I’d be lying if I say I haven’t forced myself in the shower every morning to think of the moment when I see him breathing his last breath or when somebody breaks to me the news that he has finally passed so I can be prepared. I would be lying that every moment I thought about him a few days before he died was spent tearless. And now that he’s gone, I would be lying if I didn’t say the news took me by surprise, that when I heard it my heart didn’t stop, that for how many days I grieved and let go because I didn’t. For how many days until now, all I felt was emptiness and disbelief.

My papa is dead. My papa. My papa who took care of me all my life, who carried me lovingly when I was still a kid, who gave me piggy back rides, who took me to school and fetch me when classes would end for how many years, my papa who loved me more than any man could ever love me. My papa who went back for me when I had no one, who never permitted me to go anywhere far away from home, so I wouldn’t be alone. My papa. My papa is gone.

I thought a month would be more than enough to end the pain and start moving on. What an astoundingly silly thought. A month is not even enough to let the truth sink in much more get on with your life as if everything hasn’t changed. Everything has fucking changed and I’m angry. I’m angry that I can’t do anything about it. That I can’t treat it like a painful break up. That I can’t … I can’t see my papa any more. I’m angry.

Fuck you cancer.

Fuck you doctor for not saving my papa.

FUCK YOU BAM FOR NOT BEING ABLE TO FUCKING DO FUCKING ANYTHING.

FUCK IT FUCK IT FUCK IT.

I know it’s no one’s fault. I don’t really blame anyone. I just can’t believe it happened and I just can’t imagine the future. I honestly can’t. I haven’t planned for it, I don’t want to plan it. I just can’t get the picture of him in a box, lifeless, cold… not laughing, hugging like he is supposed to. He wasn’t old enough. He still had dreams. He told us he was going to live for us. And He was a good man. He wasn’t supposed to die! I can’t fucking wrap my brain around it. Somebody fucking tell me why.

This is useless. I know I must face the reality. He is gone now. I’d like to think he is in a better place. I just really wished I could have held him for the last time and tell him how much I love him. Papa, where ever you are, I want you to know that everything I did, every step I took, every hardships I underwent, I did it all thinking of you. Papa, you know how I wanted so much to teach little kids right? But I took up accounting and I’m going to take up law. This… this is all for you. I would give up a thousand of my personal dreams over and over again, if only it would be able to bring you back to life. Papa, I know you’re gone. But papa, I’m scared. You were my hero. Who will save me now?

They say somebody’s life is just like a book. That sometime, the story will end. I know my papa’s book ended. But like many of my favorite books, I try to keep hanging on to the last chapters trying so hard not to read the last lines. I know this is wrong. But I can’t seem to move on. Or know how to.

When a chapter ends, another one begins right?

Then why do I feel mine has stopped?