Kaylie

I learned in the past year that no one really knows what’s going on, or how to handle this. I know I don’t, many of you probably don’t either, many of my friends don’t, they don’t even ask anymore simply because they do not want to hear the honest truth. They don’t want to hear that more often than not things are not okay, but that it’s just how some things go. I always knew the day would come where I had to stand up in front of a crowd of people and talk about my dads death and how it impacted me and how much I miss him, but never in a million years did I think it would come so soon. Forever will I sympathize with sixteen year old me who just lost her dad. Because time will go on and she’ll grow older and older and he will remain 55 for the rest of her life. A year later, I receive less and less condolences from people. I feel like sometimes this is a sign that people are starting forget him, that people need to be reminded to remember. But for me, I think of him everyday, every hour, how could I not. Every time I am complimented, I think of him and how he contributed to every single aspect of myself (how I carry myself, how I look, how I perceive others, how I give everyone the benefit of the doubt). Every time I achieve something I think of him, of how excited I would’ve been to tell him.  Every time I dance I think of him, how he thought how crazy expensive and how time consuming it was but how he still made it to my recital and watched my solo for the first and the last time. Every time I do something I’m scared of, I always expect a text from him telling me to “Aim high. Shoot for the moon, and even if you miss you’ll land among the stars”. It’s been a year, but I still think sometimes he’ll walk in the door from a vacation, probably Florida, and drop his old cross body airport bag on the floor and everything will go back to normal, but the day has yet to come. As we get further and further from October 15th, 2023 I start believing that less and less.

I feel like it’s my responsibility to remind everyone of him and the legacy he left behind. I do my best to incorporate him in as many conversations as I can even If it throws people off. Because I want to talk about him. It’s scary and sometimes uncomfortable because how does anyone comprehend the grief that follows loosing a parent. There’s no right thing to say, it’s even pretty hard to say something wrong, but saying something is better than saying nothing at all. I don’t know if I would say that time heals all wounds. But it makes a cut feel more like a scar. Like there is a constant reminder hanging over your head, it becomes present as a memory. It reminds me of how many milestones I’ve hit in my life, and how many more I’ll hit without him by my side. I find it really difficult to believe that heaven needed him more than I did, but here I am breathing in a world without him in it, during the times I need him the most.