They say everyone faces loss at some point—but nothing could’ve prepared me for the day I lost my father. That moment didn’t just take him—it took everything with him. My studies crumbled. My focus disappeared. The little joys I once held onto just... vanished. It's like life turned inside out, and the world kept spinning while I stood still, hollow and shaken.
He was always there—quiet, steady, unshaken. He wasn’t the type to say much, and neither was I. Our conversations were rare, short, often awkward. But now, in his silence, I hear a thousand things I wish I could’ve said. And even more that I wish I’d heard.
He never rejected a single wish of mine. Not once. Even when he was strict, it wasn’t out of anger—it was love wrapped in frustration, fear, and expectation. He only raised his voice when he saw me drifting, when I made mistakes that could cost me. I used to feel misunderstood. Now I see clearly—he was just trying to protect me the only way he knew how.
I never made the effort to truly understand him. I assumed he’d always be there. I thought there was time. Time to talk, time to explain, time to heal whatever distance sat between us. But there wasn’t.
And that’s the part that hurts the most—what I didn’t do. I didn’t sit with him more. I didn’t ask about his day. I didn’t thank him for the quiet sacrifices, for the wishes granted without question. I didn’t tell him how much I loved him—not once. And now that chance is gone, buried with him, never to return.
People always say, "You don’t realize someone’s worth until they’re gone." They’re right. And it’s a truth that cuts deeper than I ever imagined. His absence echoes in everything I do—in the silence of my room, in the empty chair at the table, in every small victory I wish I could share with him.
The world moves on, but a part of me is stuck—frozen in that moment of loss. And the thought of living the rest of my life without him… it doesn’t just sadden me. It shatters something inside me that may never fully mend.
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