The worst day of my life isn't the day he died. It was the day I finally accepted the truth that he's actually gone.
I never talk about him, mention him casually, or even think about him because once I do, the faucet of my eyes just automatically opens and water keeps pouring out uncontrollably. It has been just almost 5 years but it feels like a century. At least these past 2 years were better than the first 3, those were miserable. Sometimes I recalled his flaws, his mistakes, and tried to hate him for not being someone I admired and for leaving us. Yeah I couldn't, he was my best friend, my dad and I love him so how could I?
Sometimes I just sit in his spot, and think about how he just left me here with all of our plans together and hoped that I could operate them all by myself? How I will never be able to see him again, touch him, hug him, and listen to his stupid jokes? I haven't finished knitting him that scarf he knew that I wouldn't finish without being bored out of my eyes. We never actually had a vacation as a family, 4 of us and that will forever be my regret. He couldn't wait for me to grow up so we can have some grown-up discussion about everything we are both interested in. He couldn't wait for me to graduate then earn money to fly us to Paris to watch French Open, to scream on the top of our lungs cheering for Novak when he beats Nadal. He couldn't wait for the next Bond movie to come out so we can enjoy at the theater together like two teenagers. He couldn't wait to hold his second granddaughter again this December or see me off at the altar of my wedding in some church as we planned even though we aren't Christian. He couldn't wait to tear off my future husband's flesh of his bones with his eyes when I introduce him the first time because no one is good enough for his daughter. He couldn't wait to go on another honeymoon with mom on the trip they both deserve. He couldn't wait for me to grow up and repay him. He just couldn't wait.
He knew I would be like this, he knew my emotion isn't stable but who can blame him? Every day I wake up, I wish I could take his place, I wish they had taken me instead. I used to send some long messages to his cellphone weeks after he died, tell him about my horrible days and how much I missed him until that number was sold to someone else. Fortunately, mom bought it back recently.
I remember that morning at some stop somewhere on the way back from the memorial house where they cremated his body. My whole family was there, everybody tried to look fine, everybody tried to hold it together. I tried to eat that bland bowl of phở bò without being reminded of the cruel surrounding. The night before was a blur, I just wanted to sleep, I was exhausted due to excessive crying and those damn mosquitoes kept feeding on me. I couldn't remember much, thus I couldn't feel the truth. Then that morning I just sat there, acknowledging the absence of my favorite person, who wasn't there to tell me to eat then I could take my nap in his lap or looking for some lump on the road for a quick thrill. I could actually feel the empty void in my family, I could actually feel my heart ached and I couldn't breathe.
I hid every memory, every feeling about him in a wooden box, buried deep within my subconscious, and try my best, not to accidentally open it. To write these words, it's such a hard job.
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