In three days my father would be 70 years old. And I writing this in English right now because I don't want my mom to understand it. Really, I don't.
I've been having ups and downs since my father's passing. Most days I'm fine, but when I feel bad, it's really bad. It's close to panic. When I find myself alone at the house I cry and I cry so much that I feel thirsty and I my eyes hurt from being dry.
I wish I believed there was something after life. It would make everything much easier. But I don't and it's my father's "fault". One year before his passing, he went on a coma and when I met him back in Brazil he told me there was nothing there in his coma: no mother or father waiting for him, no bright lights, just nothingness.
And that's is so scary.
I've changed my way of seeing life, my way of looking at my husband and my son. I'm trying to enjoy life as its fullness because I think there is nothing after this. There are no other chances, no second opportunities, no other days with this specific weather, the food is not going to taste this good for a second time. There is nothing of the exactly-same twice. Either you get to enjoy it now, or you've wasted your chance.
The worst thing is the regret of not having said "I love you" or "thank you for what you have done for me" when I saw him last. He passed away without this comfort from me: and the guilty is heavy.
No comments:
Post a Comment