She sits here worrying and contemplating her life, and she doesn’t know which path she should take. There are good choices and bad ones along her way. Just like everyone else, she has to make those hard choices. It just feels too heavy and labored to find a way to be happy. All she really does is make herself more miserable with each decision she makes. Everyone wants her to be strong and carry herself to her destination, but, honestly, she’s just a girl.
She doesn’t have all the answers to the mysteries of this world, and she doesn’t always make the right choices. Her struggles are just as real as his or hers or you or yours. Each of those struggles drags her down and breaks her. Each time she breaks, she tries to cope with the bits of herself that she has lost, not knowing if she will ever be able to get those pieces back or repair herself. Her mind is a mess, and her heart has turned stone cold. She cannot do everything for everyone anymore because she’s just a girl.
The reason she is just a girl is that she doesn’t know how to do or be anything or anyone else. This is all she has ever been, and it is probably all she ever will be. Broken. Incapable of giving or receiving love. Lost. Forsaken. She just cannot find her way back to the path that will lead her to the destination that she has always dreamed of. Her struggle is real, and she hopes she can make it through all of the pain of this life.
Afterall, she is just this average girl with average struggles and immense pain.
Last January I lost my father, and it has been one of the hardest things that I have ever encountered in my life. The feeling that I will never be able to call him, hear his voice, complain about this or that…it’s overwhelming still after a year of him being gone. I think the word I am looking for to describe it is surreal. It still seems like he is there, and then I realize that he is gone. Losing a parent feels like a completely different loss to me than losing a friend or other family member.
Through every loss in your life though, you get something in return…at least that is how I think about it. I got back my ability to write again. Dad was a poet, and he had wisdom well beyond what I had ever imagined growing up. I admired him as my father, but I don’t think I saw him completely until I was sifting through my box of photos and his stuff that I brought back after the funeral. His poems were also in this box. I sat here for hours reading all of them. I learned so much about him that I never knew, and it brought tears to my eyes. As soon as I was done reading, I created this blog, and I have been writing for hours upon hours now…the only rest between was sleep. He inspired me to start writing again because it is what we have always shared with one another.
Growing up I would share my short stories and poems with him, and he would critique them in a caring but efficient way. Sometimes it made me so mad when he would give me direction on one of my stories, but as I look back, I appreciate that criticism. It was hard to take in. I was just a little girl…about 10 years old I would think looking back. I had no idea then that we would share the same passion for creativity and expressiveness.
His pen name was S.A. Kingston, and he was a brilliant poet and artist of words. He was my Dad, and I miss him dearly. I am thankful I have his poems to look back on and reflect on who he was because it is helping me find myself again.
So, here I am, Dad. I am writing again, and it feels really good. Thank you for giving me the inspiration to feel through my words again and share my creativity with the world. You are my light in the window of my soul. I will keep the candle burning for you.