I thought once, when my father died that life was playing a sick joke on me. Because why would you put someone so amazing, so completely captivating in some ones life and then take them away. I blamed everything, even god, mostly god. I tried to think of things I said to him before, I replayed the last time I spoke to him so many times in my head. I started to become another person, I didn’t know who I was without him. My life was something off a television show, I didn’t recognize anyone anymore.
My father was the glue that kept us whole, without him we became aliens to one another.
I no longer felt like I knew who I was. I desperately craved good days, I was exhausted from trying to save memories of my life before his death. I missed everything about him, mostly the love he gave for his children, my siblings who were both too young to know what happened.
I think now to how my baby sister, who was only five, never experienced his love like I did. I cry for her because I know the pain she will go through as all her life moments come and he isn’t there. I cry because she has so much of him in her that it takes my breath away. Her spirit is so spontaneous and quirky. She has so much love to give just like him, she reminds me so much of him. I know she’ll come to me with a head full of questions, and I’ll cry because she wants to know things about the other half of her the parts that make her who she is.
I’ll tell her about him; how he loved so fiercely, how he could always make my day better, I’ll tell her of his respect for women his love for his wife, I’ll tell her how much he loved her because he cant. When she is older I’ll tell her of the talks he and I used to have. How he wanted us to be strong women, women who don’t let a man use you, how to be leaders not followers and to respect ourselves. And I’ll cry because she will make him so proud, always.
I’ll tell my brother who was only three about him when the time is right. I’ll explain that he was his pride and joy, the boy the baby. I’ll explain all the things he would have wanted for him, I’ll explain his work ethic, his love for his mother, and the way he took care of his family, I’ll explain the love he had for him since he can’t remember it. I will explain to him when he gets older that men never hit women, and that it’s okay to treat women right, I’ll tell him how hot headed his father was, explain that’s where he gets it. I’ll say it’s okay to be gentle to be soft, but remember to be strong when the times are right. I’ll tell him how great he will be, I’ll give him the confidence that his father wasn’t here to give. I’ll tell him how much he is loved. I’ll cry because I know that his father will always be proud of him.
Often I cry for my mother, because I can’t imagine her loss. I want to tell her that it is okay, that she is doing alright but I don’t know if I can. I cry because I put so much on her, I want her to be better when I know that she is giving her best. It breaks my heart that I cant take away this pain, I cry when I think about all the nights she spends without him and how hard it must be. I blame her for nights in the past when we were both trying to stay a float and the raft ran out of room, and I sank. I blame her for my mistakes, the depression, the change. I cried that I couldn’t stand her without him, she was foreign without him. I’ll cry when I think of the times i used him against her, knowing I was causing more pain. I’ll cry when I can trust that she is happy, and the worry will finally fall away.
I cry when I think about the words I never said to him, I saved them for the right moments. I cry because sometimes it’s hard to be here without him, to look forward to the future when he wont be in it. I cry when I think of home, a small Indiana town, a beautiful green house, and a family so full of love. I cry when I think about our memories, our stories, I cry for my best friend, my father who didn’t have to be my father.
I cry because of the guilt I feel, guilt for seeing my real father, when I was missing his love. A man who could never compare to him, a man who wouldn’t raise me, so he did.
I cry because I’m so hurt and misguided, I am a girl who has lost so much of who she is in a short amount of time. I cry for my mistakes and the choices that I’ve made in the midst of my sadness. I cry because I don’t know how to be the girl that saves the day, when I feel like I cant save me. I cry because I never thought this would be me, I don’t want this to be me. I don’t cry for myself, I cry for the person I was; a young girl who should never have seen the things I have seen. A girl who shouldn’t have ever had to feel this pain. I cry for the life I should have had, the memories I didn’t get. I cry for him always, I scream at the sky and I ask, “Why? Please tell me why this happened to me.” I cry to god, please take this pain away from me. I cry when I think of days where I will be set free from this constant pain, when I’m home with you.
Breanna is a 19 year old, a young girl who lost her father at the age of 13 and had to become the “man” of the house.
The Manifest-Station is always looking for more young voices.