Everyday became less and less foggy. The mist had cleared up, and I was barely wiping the dew off of my glasses. As I grew older, my connection with my father only faded. I started to wonder what my “perfect life” could have been like. Around a year or two ago, my mom told me some news that would have pleased my young, angered self.
“Tu papá se va ir. ¿Lo quieres ver?” <Your dad is leaving. Do you want to see him?>
I didn’t know how to feel. Is this a “forever” goodbye? Do I want to forget him? I did not take a second to ponder about my decision I was going to make. I simply said:
“No, I don’t wanna see him”.
I might regret this decision later, I thought.
Nevertheless, I stood right by my choice, and so did my mom.
I wonder when the thought of missing him will kick in. For now, I know that I feel nothing.
Nothing; a numbness. An absent feeling.
A feeling that is a mix of multiple.
It’s like when you mix a bunch of colors together and they form a shade of black.
Thinking back, I wonder what life would have looked like up until this point if my father were still in my life. The answer is simple: boring, dull, and shallow.
I learned today that about fifty percent of children in the United States will have to go through their parents’ divorce. What I have experienced and learned up until this point in my life is what has gotten me here in the first place. My father happened to play a major role in this character development.
I’ve let this part of my life bring me down for most of my life, yet I rarely think about what comes next.
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