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After Your Last Breath


Every time someone tells me that you must be proud of me, I feel a little pain. I don't know what to feel. We had a lot of misunderstandings and argued a lot. I wasn't able to give you the life you dreamed of. All my life, I struggled to meet your expectations and earn your approval. I worked so hard, but it always seemed like it was never enough. Now that you're gone, I still find myself wondering if you were proud of me, of the person I became and of the things I've accomplished.

During your final moments, Mama's friend told us to talk to you and say whatever we wanted to say because you might still be able to hear us. I stared blankly at your frail body and didn't know what to say. I watched my sister cry beside you as she hugged you for the last time, and my brother held your hand as he cried silently. I stood in the corner of our house, my mind completely blank.

Life goes on after you've passed away. Most of the time, I tell myself I'm fine, but then something triggers the sadness. I cried when I saw Mama sleeping alone downstairs. I cried when I saw her crying because something reminded her of you. I cried because Father's Day is coming soon, and we won't be celebrating it with you. Though we never really celebrated it before because you weren't fond of celebrations, and it always felt a little awkward. I cried when Auntie—your sister—died a few days after you passed away because it reminded me of you and how she was able to help you until the very end.
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