loss

For my father

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I see the highest mountain, and you are at the very top.

I then imagine myself climbing restlessly–if I climb just far enough, fast enough–will I capture a glimpse of you?

Will I follow you through thick clouds and into heaven?

From down here I gaze at the mountain’s peak, beholding its beauty.

At this peak you stand; at this peak you sit.

The sun’s rays shine on you, their warmth comforting you.

The rain cleanses your soul, suggesting rebirth.

At the top of this mountain you are rejoicing, you are free.

From down here, how I long to sit with thee.

Drive.

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Grieving in his name has taught me that in the end of it all, people always leave. No matter who is there for you to fall back on and despite of whatever kind words are whispered into your ear, it is ultimately your own responsibility to bounce back and pick yourself up. People always leave. Sooner than later you are left to fend for yourself, to lift your own spirits and peddle forward.

You can hang onto someone—cling onto him like no other—in hopes that they don’t ever let go. Yet deep down you know he let go a long time ago. This time around was only courtesy and compassion, and you recognize it’s only momentary before he lets go for good. You try to tell yourself that day is nowhere near, that it will probably never come, but deep down and in your heart of hearts you already know the answer.

You begin asking why you allowed yourself to get this far, why you knocked on a door that was already shut. It’s too late now for questions and blame. You find yourself doing corny yet sweet things, only to drive back home in silence. You and your heart are officially dumb.

Unfilled.

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When rain leaks through a roof, a bucket contains its dripping water. Broken ceilings, torn walls, and ripped curtains can be fixed, rebuilt, and sown back together. What happens then when emptiness overtakes you? An emptiness so infinite that it is immeasurable. Emptiness so deeply rooted that you cannot comprehend where it starts or where it ends.

No words can fill a void like this. It’s like pouring high spirits and encouragement into a broken glass—it cannot contain these. Lying in bed throughout the day, forcing yourself to oversleep becomes familiar. To cry quietly and mask sadness as anger becomes natural.

I picture you sitting on this very same couch, legs crossed, as always. I remember you washing your trucks, so rigorously and with pride. I think about meeting with you for dinner. Losing you is losing a part of me, though I know your spirit is with me.