My father died thirty years ago. I was seven years old and shielded from the severity of his illness. I understood something terrible was wrong but I still didn't understand his death. I felt pain but didn't cry. I was scared.
It is hard to believe that 30 years after he died I still miss him. The pain is still there and it still hurts to think of him. It hurts in the pit of my stomach.
I wonder what life would have been like had he lived. Would I be living in Vancouver? Would I have become who I am today? What would he think of my life? Would he be proud of me?
I wish so much that I could see him, talk to him, tell him what I have done...every single day. For thirty years I have thought about him everyday, day after day.
My mother and father went on a trip to Europe when I was quite young. My grandmother stayed with my siblings and me when my parents were travelling. The evening they arrived home I was allowed to stay up late to wait for them. When they came through the front door I either jumped into my father's arms or he grabbed me and gave me a big hug. His face was rough from not shaving and he smelled like old spice. I cried from happiness that my dad was home to keep to protecting me.
I will never be able to capture the emptiness that will always live in my heart. I miss him.
May 2016 bring joy, happiness and fresh start for all of us. Let us learn from the past, appreciate the present and work hard for a better future.