It’s been six months since my dad died. And I no longer want to kill myself.
I never thought I’d reach this point. If you’d asked me 6 months ago if I thought I could go on living without my dad and be happy, I’d have said no. But now that I’m here on the other side of it and can look back, I know that all my dad ever wanted for me was happiness. If he could see me now, I know that he’d be pleased that I’m living my life the best I can without him. I still miss and love him, but I know that he’s getting the rest that he deserves.
Sure, I still have moments when I get emotional over a memory, but I’ve escaped that pit of wretched depression I used to be trapped in. I don’t spend days inside my room, only coming out when necessary, missing him so much that my chest ached. I’m more at peace, because I know his soul is at peace.
There’s still a bit of a lingering ache. Not one that’s overwhelming. Just a quiet reminder of how much I’ve lost. But now instead of bawling my eyes out, I just smile and get a little teary-eyed. Memories of him bring me peace instead of pain.
I know he's at peace, and I am too.
Rest in peace, Dad. See you one day.
