A LETTER TO HEAVEN

DEAR PAPA,

Since I’m starting to blog again this summer, I have been going back and forth on whether or not to put these particular feelings in writing. I keep telling myself no, that it is too risky, and yet the same thoughts cloud my mind every time I start a new post. I’ve been writing in my mind for a week and I need to put it into words. Sometimes I think of getting rid of them, for my own peace of mind and it needs to have a piece of  my mind because I think this is the only way. So I still need to blog again anyway.  Well, I am still hurt. And before I try to put this behind me once and for all, there is one more thing left to say. You were a great man; an incredible man, kind, and loyal. You didn't come from the greatest place, but made sure your children did. You were supportive; you stood by our side for years through the ups and downs that dilemma brought into our lives. I'm in awe. I choked back tears whenever I think of you pa. Ten months. Ten long, short, devastating, exhilarating, empty, fulfilled, blurry, memorable months without you. How did I get here? It's truly such a blur, yet if I had another day with you I could fill it with the most incredible details of the life I've made for myself since the day I lost you.

I think the only thing I've really come to terms with is this:

I miss you.  In less than 2 months, it will be a year since you died.  I look back to a year  ago when I used to ponder in my mind what it would feel like once you were gone, never understanding fully that one day I would really have to feel it.  So here I am in the middle of it still completely uncertain on most days what it is I really do feel.

Lonely.  Sad.  Yes, even a little depressed.  Surprisingly tense.  A tinge emotionally unstable.  The latter two surprise me the most.  I never expected for the tears to well up in my eyes unexpectedly in almost a year after your death or to still feel anxious and tense in social situations where you may have been present.  I even find myself tense while mulling over problems or issues in my head, wishing I could call you and talk to you about it. Although most of the times I still text you telling all what I am up to in my life, what I am now and what are my plans and so on. Most of the time, I look up in the sky, believing that you look down on me. There are still times I woke with heaviness in my chest as though the weight of your death is trapped inside my rib cage.  Funny how the body does this to me from time to time, and there's simply no preventing or controlling it.  I can plan and prepare and think I will be just fine, but then I wake up at 5:30 and my first thought is, "It's here."  That pressure and sinking feeling, the burning in my stomach, the physical manifestation of summertime grief.

So, things are moving on, papa.  You are gone, and I am still standing.  Still standing.  This grief thing has thrown me for a complete loop, and I had no idea that I would still be working my way through the maze.  But I am.  And I am still working.  Still moving.  Still your daughter,` your eldest son` as you had introduced me to your Companeros even though you aren't here. And I will always be proud to call you Papa. I let my grief and fear of death completely overtake me. Watching you die 10 months ago  truly shook me to my core in more ways than I had ever realized. I started to look at life as a countdown; a ticking time bomb. Something in the past few months just clicked for me out of nowhere, and I can see now that life has been patiently waiting for me to go out and live it.

Now that's exactly what I intend to do!  With each day that passes without you, I reminded that I am so fortunate to have a papa worth missing. Despite my good intentions, of course I started crying completely unexpectedly right when I woke up this morning. It's just so bittersweet. I feel lucky to have known you, and I always will, but there's that part of me that will just remain sad. Well, this turned out to be quite depressing, this little letter to heaven.  Sometimes I don't even realize how sad I am until I write it out.  I wonder, papa, does the sad part ever go away?  I'm not quite sure it does.  And this is why I find it so hard to write these days.  It's easier not to think at all.  So much easier.  And if you were still alive, you would look at me and smile and say, "And that's okay." So I will just remain okay for quite a while.  Quite a long while.
Sometimes little blessings can emerge from such a tragedy... and that gives me hope.

I love you as always!

-AJ-