It’s hard to explain the way I feel to people that can’t relate. Loosing anyone is hard, but loosing a parent is something I wouldn’t wish on anyone. It changed my entire world, but my world didn’t change. 

Imagine, if you wish, feeling like everything is on a grey scale; No color. You are living in a world where all you see is black, shades of grey and white, but all around you people are enjoying the blue sky, the green grass, color. 

That’s how I feel. 

I feel like I live without color. 

Not because I am only sad but because I feel different. I do not feel like I belong where I did before. I feel as though I am a different person. I can’t engage in childish conversations, or deal with idiotic drama. I can’t be who I was. 

I think that’s the problem, I was always just a girl with a sick dad. “My dad is sick” was always my answer when someone asked, now I’m the girl who lost her dad, the girl who’s dad is dead. The words can’t seem to roll of my tongue, they get stuck in my throat and make me choke; I cannot breath. I don’t expect, I don’t hope, people to understand what I mean, how dead is any worse then terminally ill but it is. It’s selfish and its intense, this feeling, to feel like a completely different person, to be angry and sad yet numb. I know in my heart he was tired, he was worn out and it was his time, but now I’m tired, my eyes have bigger bags then ever. My heart is broken and I feel empty. 

Every where and everything brings me back to when he was alive. Back when my world was colorful. 

It’s not even monumental things anymore; it’s a parking lot, a road, it’s random memory that plays on repeat in my mind. 

Explain to me, please, how I am expected to go on when every thing I do and see reminds me that he is not here. 

It’s becoming hard to sleep because when I close my eyes the past presents itself again. Each time bringing me back to a time when my dad was alive. 

I feel like I’m giving up


One thought on “

  1. While I have both my parents, the loss of important people from my life is a familiar feeling in me: I know how the world suddenly becomes colorless. And for that I will say this. The ghosts, the reoccurring memories seemingly set on random, are both a curse and a blessing. They will never go away, and that’s a good thing in the end. For the lessons you continue to learn from the ghosts no longer physically present outweighs the pain of not having them here to show you themselves. It is in these moments, of knowing that the physicality of a person does not limit what they can teach you, that the color comes back in brilliant pops of life.


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