It’s been about five years since my Dad left this earth. His departure shocked me and shook me to the core of my being. Of kindred spirits, he was one of the closest. The current of mutual adoration running between us was so abruptly cut off, I was left disoriented and blind, suddenly lost in a wilderness I never knew existed. There were times I simply curled up in a fetal position, immobilized, wracked by a grief that felt too sharp to survive.
I will never stop aching for him until I see him again.
And yet, in the past five years, the winding path of grief takes me to this strange place where lack of physicality no longer limits me in feeling his presence.
It’s almost like I let him go, little by little with every tear through every year; but as I do, he returns to me in the wind, in the flutter of leaves and glimmer of sunshine, and most of all, in the forest where we spent so much time together.
He always said this to me when we were parting, including the day before he died: “Always know that I’ll always love you.” And I think I know it more now than ever, when even death can’t take his love from me; when I haven’t even seen him for five years, but I know that I know in the marrow of my bones and the depths of my soul: love never ends.