He’s gone. He died. On Saturday, May 1st my dad and I talked all day long and at 8:35pm we would never talk to each other again. In the blink of an eye, my hero, my rock, the last parent I had left, was gone. When I was 17 years old, and my mother was slowly dying from cancer, I had given up on religion and praying. My mom was quickly gone, and my prayers felt like they had been a waste of time and were nothing. I had my father to lean on, and boy, did I. He hadn’t been feeling too well for the two weeks prior to his death; he chalked it up to being a cold. He spent his last day working (for Apple) and talking to me, all while in a hospital bed. The one thing I held onto was the fact that it wasn’t COVID-19 that killed him. I kept thinking that he made it through 2020 but couldn’t make it halfway through 2021. It was fast and quick; our family is still dealing with a bit of shock. 

My dad knew that I started writing more, but I never got to tell him the extent of where I was going with my writing. I was nervous to tell him that I wanted to write full time and pursue this journey. He was the type of person that wanted me to fulfill my dreams and strive for them, but he also wanted me to be realistic in case my dreams didn’t work out. I’ve always hid my writing passion, because of this. I dabbled here and there, but never actually put my full attention to it. I decided at the beginning of April that I was quitting my job at the company I was working for to focus all my attention to my writing; it was one of the best decisions I had ever made. I spent all of April writing and setting myself up to continue on my writing journey full time. When my father died on May 1st, I put my writing on hold. I spent the last two months dealing with all of his possessions, packing up his house, filling out paperwork, phone calls, etc., I was doing everything but writing. Throughout the last two months I had friends and family ask me how my job was complying with the fact that I needed this much time off. I started to tell people about me quitting my job and pursuing writing full time; to my surprise everyone thought it was a wonderful decision and supports me to the fullest. It was definitely what I needed to hear, because I was always hard on myself with my writing. My writing needed to be perfect, because I was a bit of a perfectionist, and it was a reflection of myself. I didn’t want to be seen as being a failure or no good enough. As I started back in April, I was learning that it was ok if my writing wasn’t perfect and the more, I practiced it would be a great reflection of myself. It was ok if I failed, because failure brings greatness. The more I work at it the better I’ll get. I think my dad secretly knew how much I loved to write, and he knew that I would eventually succeed.

 I joked that I went from being Finding Nemo having just my dad to being Harry Potter with no parents at all. Laughter really is the best medicine, especially when you’re in pain. There are parts of me that are forever lost and gone, but that doesn’t mean I won’t continue on my journey. Both of my parents would be so disappointed in me if I sat here and sulked instead of striving for a passion of mine. Losing both my parents before thirty-five is tough, but I’m grateful for the time I was given with both of them and sad to say, but it could be worse. My outlook for everything is to stay positive and see the glass half full rather than half empty. I opened one of the manuscripts that I was working on and started adding more to the story this past week. My two-month hiatus isn’t fully over, but I know that I need to start writing again to keep my sanity at peace and my dream alive. I will get through this, because I’m back, baby! 😊