It hurts. A pain so bad, it’s hard to describe it if you haven’t felt it before. I suppose losing someone you love also means losing part of yourself. I lost my dad five years ago, and although I may not think about it every hour of the day like I used to when I do think about him – the pain is as painful as day one.
I miss his presence. I miss the way he made me feel. I miss his laughter, his jokes. I miss our family, I miss the way they were. I miss the way I used to be. But what I miss most, is him. Whenever I make any decision these days, I wonder if he would approve. I constantly wonder what he would do. I look for signs everywhere I can, just in case the light of his torch might show me the way.
The thing with losing someone is that people mold that person into who they want to remember them as, they paint their own colors and add whatever fabric they want. They erase the bits they don’t like and are sure to stay in the lines, only to finish it off with a perfect shine.
Grief is selfish.
I don’t believe in memories anymore, I believe in the way something made you feel. Describing an event aesthetically is easily altered and encrypted, but a feeling is real and although it may disappear, it will never be forgotten. Our world is temporary, people are temporary and feelings are temporary. We were never meant to last forever, yet we attach ourselves to people as though we will last forever. Love and letting go unassumingly coincide; they dance the same routine and shed light on somewhere we rarely go. So maybe there’s something quite beautiful about grief: the fact we dared to love that much.
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