Forbidden feelings

The day I lost my father, my world became silence. Not the peaceful kind of silence. It was the kind that made every little sound feel painful. The hospital corridor was strangely quiet that afternoon. I could hear the faint footsteps of nurses moving from one room to another, the sound of a machine beeping somewhere behind a closed door, and my own breathing. I sat outside my father’s room, staring at the floor. I had been there for hours, holding on to one thought. He was going to be okay. He had to be okay. My father had always seemed too strong to leave us. He was the center of our little family, and I was the only child my parents had given birth to. Whenever something went wrong, he was the person everyone looked toward. He was the person who made problems feel smaller. So when the doctor finally walked out of the room, I immediately stood up. My mother was beside me. The doctor’s face told me everything before he even spoke. He looked at us with tired eyes and said something I could barely hear. My mother covered her mouth. Then she broke down. “No,” she whispered. I stared at her. “Mom?” She turned away from me, crying. “Mom, what’s wrong?” She couldn’t answer. I looked toward the hospital room. Then back at her. “Is Dad okay?” She shook her head. That was when the world stopped. My father was gone. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I just stood there. Frozen. It felt like someone had reached inside my chest and taken something away from me. Something I would never get back. My mother walked into the hospital room one more time, crying so hard that she could barely stand. I followed her slowly. And there he was. My father. Lying quietly on the bed. He looked different. Too peaceful. Too still. I walked closer. “Daddy?” Nothing. I waited. “Daddy, I’m here.” Still nothing. I wanted him to open his eyes. I wanted him to tell me that this was all some terrible mistake. But he didn’t. That was the first time I understood that some goodbyes don’t come with a second chance. My mother reached for my hand. “Come, sweetheart.” I didn’t move. “I don’t want to go.” Her eyes filled with tears again. “I know.” “I can’t leave him.” She pulled me into her arms. For the first time that day, I cried. I cried against her shoulder until my body hurt. “I want my daddy,” I whispered. “I know, baby.” “I want him back.” My mother held me tighter. “I know.” But there was nothing she could say that could bring him back. Nothing anyone could say. The days after the funeral became a blur. People came into our house. They brought food. They hugged me. They whispered words like be strong and everything will be fine. But I didn’t feel strong. And everything wasn’t fine. My father’s chair was still in the living room. His shoes were still near the door. His things were still everywhere. But he wasn’t. That was the cruelest part. Everything around me looked exactly the same, yet nothing felt the same anymore. For an entire month, our house felt dry and empty. There was barely any laughter. Barely any conversation. Sometimes my mother would sit in the living room and stare at my father’s chair for what seemed like hours. Other times, I would hear her crying quietly in her room. And sometimes, she would come into my room just to check if I was sleeping. One night, she sat beside me. “You haven’t eaten much today,” she said softly. “I don’t feel hungry.” “You said that yesterday.” I turned away. “I’m fine, Mom.” She was quiet for a moment. “No, you’re not.” I didn’t answer. She reached out and touched my hair. “You don’t have to pretend with me.” That sentence broke something inside me. I turned toward her. “I don’t know what to do.” Her eyes became watery. “Neither do I.” “You’re my mom. You’re supposed to know.” She gave me a sad smile. “I wish I did.” I looked down at my hands. “I feel like my life ended with his.” My mother immediately shook her head. “Don’t say that.” “But it’s true.” “No.” Her voice became firmer. “Your father would never want you to believe that.” I looked at her. “How am I supposed to live without him?” She took my hand. “One day at a time.” I wanted to believe her. I really did. But at that moment, I couldn’t imagine a future that didn’t include my father. I couldn’t imagine waking up one morning and not expecting to hear his voice. I couldn’t imagine going back to school and pretending everything was normal. So I stopped going. Days passed. Then weeks. My books remained untouched. My uniform stayed folded inside my wardrobe. My classmates sent messages asking where I was. I couldn’t bring myself to answer them. I wasn’t ready to face anyone. Every time I looked at someone, I wondered if they could somehow see the pain inside me. Could they see how broken I felt? Could they see that behind my quiet face was a girl who was screaming inside? There was a loud voice in my head that kept repeating the same memories over and over again. My father’s laugh. His voice calling my name. The sound of him coming through the door. The little things I had never thought I would miss. I missed everything. And the more I tried not to think about him, the more I remembered. One morning, my mother came into my room and opened the curtains. Light flooded the room. I covered my face. “Mom, close them.” “You’ve been in this room for weeks.” “I don’t want to go outside.” “You need fresh air.” “I don’t care.” She stood quietly for a moment. Then she sat beside me. “I’ve been thinking.” I looked at her. “About what?” She hesitated. “About us.” Something about her voice made me nervous. “What about us?” She took a deep breath. “We can’t stay like this forever.” I looked away. “I know.” “I know you’re hurting.” “So are you.” She nodded. “Yes. I am.” For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then she squeezed my hand. “But your father wouldn’t want us to stop living.” I swallowed hard. I hated hearing that. Not because she was wrong. But because she was right. My father was gone. And somehow, the rest of us were expected to keep moving. I didn’t know what the future was going to look like. I didn’t know how I was supposed to become the person I used to be. All I knew was that the life I had known before that hospital room was gone. And whether I was ready or not, something new was waiting for me. I just didn’t know yet that the biggest change in my life was still coming. And when it finally arrived, I would discover that grief wasn’t the only thing capable of changing a person’s heart.