My insides

May be ugly may be pretty.

Papa came to me last weekend. We were at the beach, it was windy. We were having a picnic. Dad looks happy, he is beaming with joy, and his skin is glowing. He is a healthier version of himself. He was barbecuing meat for all of us. Everyone was around me, but they kind of fell into the background and papa was all i see, all i focused on. Because he is the star of my dream, and i want him to hug me, to tell me something. To tell me, to say something to me, to guide me, to let me hear what i need to hear.

As his usual self, he was serving everyone food before himself. And then he finally turned to me, he was smiling, the happiest joyful smile that he always has, and in slow motion, i see him transfer the meat from the serving plate unto mine, and in his eyes, as if he said, “Don’t worry now my child, eat something, everything is ok.”

You break my heart, but thank you for assuring me. I guess you can tell i’m struggling.

 

I struggle with love, with forgiveness, with being patient with myself and others, I struggle with loss, i struggle with guilt, grieve, sadness, unfairness. I struggle to find a voice for myself. Most of all, i still struggle with you gone papa.

Much love in my heart for you.