Broken Hearts and Last Goodbyes?

It hurts to think about it.

It's been two week since my father died. 

The image of that Tuesday night in the hospital room is etched into my brain. The scene is so vivid it feels like I'm reliving it frame, by frame every time I close my eyes.  I remember the nurses' faces, every detail. I can picture the sickly yellow color on the walls. I can hear the frigid silence floating within the four walls of the room. Ever since that night it has felt as if time has stopped, and every single moment of that daunting Tuesday hangs thick in the air.

I can picture my father, silent, asleep, the morphine trickling down through the IV, the oxygen from  his mask making low raspy sounds. This was the end. 

He died at 12:10 A.M. Technically Wednesday. But, rewind to twelve hours prior and I would have never imagined I'd be going to the hospital to say goodbye to my father. 

My blog speaks of living fearlessly. Except, how could I preach those words when I left that hospital early Wednesday morning so broken? I couldn't speak, couldn't think, couldn't sleep, couldn't even eat. 

I could not believe what had happened. It could not be real. It had to be a bad nightmare, right?

I was frozen, cold, and still am. Two weeks later I still can't sleep with the lights off.  That isn't exactly living fearlessly.

There will always be highs and lows in a person's life.  Overcome one mountain and there will be many, many more. Without strength, there is no motivation, no perseverance helping you climb up the mountain. There is nothing-ness. 

I truly believe life has the meaning we decide to thrust upon it. As much as I hate to do it, quoting the twerk princess Miley Cyrus (Circa Hannah Montana Movie)pretty much sums it up, "Ain't about how fast I get there/ Ain't about what's waiting on the other side/ it's the climb". 

It's the Journey.

As a writer, I should know this better than anyone. You can't bottle up your emotions and expect to get from one point to the other. It will only drive you towards insanity. Which is why I am releasing all of my thoughts, and doubts onto this platform because it is cathartic. Catharsis is such a beautiful term, like closure coming to terms with your demons. 

Yes, hiding everything seems like the easier option. Looking strong on the outside, but cracking on the inside. Though it creates a very promising facade, is it truly embodying strength? Masks are what ruin us.

So while I can sit in my room wearing a smile, letting out a laugh or two while racing through every season of "Awkward"; I know that inside my heart is broken. This ache is what has been preventing me from hanging out with people who are happier than me, this is my flaw. And while I can dwell on the cracks in my heart, I should also note that they are not beyond repair. 

So what's the medicine to cure a broken heart? Dessert, probably. 

But, Philosophically, love. Love from family, friends, and the love that you reciprocate.  Faith in yourself, and faith in the one you lost is a major remedy to help put back the pieces, to help figure out who you are coming out of something so tragic. 

Like the wise, and selfless Nelson Mandela stated, "The greatest glory in living lies not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall." 

Each day since I lost my dad I've pretended I was okay. Giving everyone the same response when they asked how I was doing was my front. I would smile politely and give a small hug to anyone who came up to me and offered their condolences. I chained up my true emotions, holding back the screams in my head because I thought I had to be strong that way. I had to be strong for my brother, for my mother, I could not show my vulnerability. Then, when I was finally alone I would lie in my bed and cry, cry until I believed it was impossible to have any tears left. 

That was my fall, and now here is my rising. 

Like the Phoenix rising from the ashes we are faced with obstacles in certain times in our lives in order to find our purpose. My father taught me the importance of determination, hard work, and treating others how you expect to be treated yourself. I will never ever forget him. Which is why, my life must carry on just the way he would have wanted as if he were still living by my side.

As I wrote in my final letter to my father, I can only hope that one day I can become just as strong, humble, and as great a person as he was, and still is.

I will rise from the darkness that seems so overwhelming, and embrace the happiness that awaits me with each and every day that I triumph over my fears.

~ "I learned that courage is not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who is not afraid, but he who conquers that fear." -- Nelson Mandela ~