Throughout the history of the world, there have been many phrases that we as humans use daily. No matter the place, the time, or the language. “Good Morning,” “How are you?”” Welcome” “I Love You,” etc. But to this day, none of them have struck harder than the newest one in my dictionary. It all started on the 7th of February at 2:07 a.m., I received a call from my uncle Brian telling me to shower and start packing because my brother and I were headed to Nicaragua. You see, the day before, my brother called me telling me that our father was pretty sick and that we would have to go to Nicaragua so that way we could be there when he’d recuperate. Now, I didn’t think too much of the fact that my dad was sick because my dad was a fighter and I knew that he’d just shake off whatever was making him sick. So I showered and started packing my suitcase.
My aunt Maria and cousin Jormery showed up to my house, the reason didn’t come to me, I guess for comfort. Only thing being is that they were both crying so the comfort level evaporated. Suddenly, I hear my aunt Maria burst through the front door screaming in complete and utter sadness and desperation and Jormery comes in screaming and crying and starts hugging me. At this moment, my conscious froze up and my subconscious started taking over, I was processing all of the information without fully realizing what was happening. Skipping ahead, we arrive at Miami at 8 a.m. hoping to catch the next flight to Nicaragua at 11 a.m. But luck decided to test us a little longer and moved our flight to 5 p.m., and then again until 9 p.m. So finally we arrive at Nicaragua, we meet up with Tio Casimiro at baggage claim and make a B-line for my mom. As soon as she sees my brother and myself, she grabs us both, squeezes us tight and says “Se Nos Fue Tu Papa,” translation, “Your Dad Is Gone.”
So I stop at this part of the story to ask you, my reader, a question. How do you respond to your mother telling you that your father is gone? The answer, you don’t.
During this time, my mind, my body, and my soul are all frozen. I’m caught between wanting to cry and utter confusion. So I just hug it out with ever individual person in the family. At this point, I’m pissed off at myself that I am not able to cry until one of my cousins grips my shoulder and the tears start flowing. Everyone else from Virginia gets here and the crying continues. Once we’re all settled, we all get in the cars and head to Jinotega, Nicaragua, the birth place and ultimately, the burial place of my father. Everyone from the town showed up, every relative I’ve ever met and even ones I haven’t. My brother and I both grab one of my mom’s hands and we turn the corner. In front of us lies a casket, both my brother and I stare at the person inside but we couldn’t recognize him. We knew it was our dad but it looked nothing like him. We cried as one big group for several hours, when we actually tried to get a couple of hours of sleep.
It turned into a nightmare; my grandmother had this rooster that would sing in the crack of dawn. But its song was really broken and it sounded like screams. My nightmare was my dad screaming in pain, every five minutes. Even to this day, I can hear the screams. Sunday morning came; we had a beautiful mass for my dad. Being an old friend of the family, the priest reminisces about their childhood, what they talked about, and how they were very close. Mass is long and stressful, I instantly remember the promise I made to my dad when I was only four years old. I told him that one day I would buy him a red Jeep, this thought hits
Sunday afternoon hits us just as badly as early in the morning. It was time to take my dad into the cemetery and say our final goodbyes. We stall the burial for a couple of minutes to make time for my uncle Brian. After he shows up, we say one final prayer, give him one final kiss and ease him in to his grave. Days and months have passed. It has been one entire year and two months since my father’s death. The first couple of months after his death were really hard. The rest of the months just flew by and before I knew it the year anniversary hit.
But these last few months, have been some of the most difficult I have ever been through. I was emotionally isolated from every possible person, began arguing whenever there was a family get together just to show how tough I was, and it even came to skipping school just so I could go home and sleep. The isolation happened because I know that everyone in the family is grieving about my dad, but it’s not the same. It differs in the pain that a cousin or a sister-in-law suffers then it actually being the person that raised you. Hell the day of the actual anniversary, my brother and I became completely wasted but were still somehow functional just so we couldn’t feel any pain during that day. People often say that they get stronger whenever a loved one dies. I personally felt that I was losing the battle and there was no way I could ever catch up. Also, with the continuous bad luck my family has endured over the past year, my faith in God still hasn’t rejuvenated. I guess I’m just waiting for a miracle to happen so that way I can start believing again. The dreams I’ve had about my dad were never really dreams but nightmares. I would dream that I was dying and he was calling me up to go with him only he would be crying. And if it wasn’t like that then they had to deal with him coming back from a “trip” or something. I haven’t been able to talk to him lately; it’s hard to talk to someone when you can’t get a response.
If I did I would tell him that I miss him an incredible amount. That I hope he’s ok, that I know he’s watching me. If possible, I want him to talk to me in my dreams, explain everything to me. For any person that has to grieve with the death of a parent, in my opinion it is the biggest change you could ever possibly have in your life. Cherish every moment you have with everyone you love, even if the moments aren’t all good because when you least expect it, they’re going to be taken away from you and you won’t be able to handle the pain. For instance, my father was an alcoholic; I’m not ashamed to say it. When he was pretty intoxicated, he would give us lectures on anything really and I used to hate it. Now that he’s gone I actually miss all of them, no matter how idiotic the subject was. I end with a quote from an Eskimo proverb. “Perhaps they are not stars, but rather openings in heaven where the love of our lost ones, pours through and shines down upon us to let us know they are happy.” I’ll Always Love You Pop; I miss you more and more every day.
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