My Father, My Hero
When my father first passed away, everyone kept asking what they could do for me, what did I need, was I okay. I never had an answer for them except, I was not okay. I didn’t know how to ask for help, because I didn’t understand that I needed help. To be completely honest, I didn’t know what I wanted or needed in those moments. Getting through the day without crying or being sick was extremely hard. Hearing people talk about my father was worse, the only comfort I got was when I looked at pictures of the two of us together, laughing, smiling, I wanted those days back.
For those who knew me before my father passed away understood how important he is to me. I talked about him constantly. (After my father passed, my boss even said he felt like he was losing a friend because of how much I talked about him.) To me, my father was the most brilliant man alive. He instinctively knew how to run businesses, treat people with respect, and build anything (and I mean anything.) He is my definition of a man’s man. Strong, understanding, loving, smart, handy and kind. He was always willing to give the shirt off his back to someone who needed it more.
Although he had a temper, with what he called stupid people, he never let it stop him from helping someone. I have lost count of the number of times he put someone else’s well-being before his or someone else’s wants before his. He was a Godly man, even if he believed God was an alien.
We would talk every single day. At first our conversations were around me, what I was doing in school, what my friends were up to, the boy I was dating. As I entered college, those conversations changed, they became very two sided. I knew his struggles, where his downfalls were, we worked through problems together, I was able to offer career advice, I wrote his resumes, we even talked about relationships (family, mom, my relationships, work relationships.) We covered everything under the sun, like best friends. On countless occasions, my father would say he didn’t know what he would do without me. I told him he would never have to worry about that, little did I know, I had to worry about what I would do without him.
As this year has passed, I realize I am not without my father, just without my father’s body. I am my father. He has given me the greatest gift, he taught me. As I speak, I hear my father’s voice, his words, his passion, his love. When I am having a problem, I can think back to our many conversations and find his answer. I can hear him guiding me through life and feel his presence every day. I find comfort in this. I would give everything to have him back and be able to hug him, but for now, this will do. I love you, Daddy.
