365 Letters To Heaven

Day 11

*(By Musterdhino)*

Dear Dad,

It’s day eleven, and I still find myself reaching for your voice in silence.

This morning, I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the wall like it could answer the ache in my chest. There’s a photo of you I keep near my window — the one where you wore that faded agbada and laughed with your eyes closed. I used to think I’d grow up and look just like you. Now I just hope I grow strong enough to carry the pain you left behind.

I wish you were here to see how life has changed. Sometimes, I feel like a stranger in my own story — moving, breathing, existing… but hollow. You always told me that real strength isn’t in hiding tears but in owning them. I cry, Dad. Not because I’m weak. But because you mattered.

I see kids with their fathers and feel a quiet sting. Not of jealousy — but longing. A longing to call someone "Dad" and hear a real voice respond. I wonder, did you know you were leaving that day? Did you fight to stay? Or did you find peace before the pain took you?

I’m doing my best, though. I’m not the strongest. I still mess up. But I wake up every day trying to be a man you’d be proud of. I write to you not because I expect a reply, but because these letters are the only bridge I have left to you.

Tell Heaven I miss you. Tell God to grant me courage. Tell yourself you are still deeply loved — every single day.

With all the love my small heart can carry,

**Your son,

Ayo.**

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