He looked still young and strong, like he was still here with us but it was not so. His body was still here with us; painted and primped for this special occasion, but his spirit was not there. He was not in this shell anymore but was with God, sleeping and waiting. I'm glad he's no longer in pain...no longer physically chained to this world but my heart is breaking from the sadness of losing him.

It's only for a second, I know.
Just a blink of an eye on this span of time.

I'll see him again but my heart grieves, thinking of the second that seems like forever. Can a heart piece itself back together from this blow? I never...I never thought papa would die. It never passed my mind. Of course, logically, I know people are born and people die but facing this truth, seeing my beloved papa die...it's too soon and I'm in shock.

Everyone wore white for the wake. Papa would have wanted people like this: he always said black was too morbid, too depressing to be around. He was a person who didn't like seeing his friends or family sad. He always wanted us to be happy...hearing the guest laugh in the corner (most likely sharing stories of papa) I wanted to smile but the sadness just weighed on me deeper.

I need to get myself together.
Papa wouldn't want this: for me to be sad.

He would have told me to straighten my back and smile. I tried, I truly did try but inside I felt as if I was drowning and failing at looking happy. I miss my papa...I'm a grown man now but my papa was everything and now I feel so lost in my life. Who will I have to talk to, to comfort me, remind me of God always being with me when I slip up? Who will I look out to while I'm on stage, playing the piano? Who will be at my wedding in the years I fall in love? Everything will be so different and I'm scared of this change.

I spoke to no one as I focused only on the deceased in the coffin who remained motionless. Feeling invisible weights on my arms, I reached and grabbed the hand of the only parent I ever had in my life. His hand was stiff and cold, almost like he was stuffed with frozen cotton. It was upsetting to feel him like this. It made his death more real. I could still feel the old scars on his hand from the years of hard labor in his life; the labor he endured for our sake. Bitter tears threatened to slip and I wasn't sure if I wanted to be "happy" anymore.

I wanted to cry.

My eyes closed, hoping to stop the tears from escaping. I felt a hand place itself on top of mine. It was rough and calloused like papa's but warm and gentle as well like a woman's hand...smaller than mine too. Opening my eyes, they strayed to the person offering me comfort in my grief: It was papa's biological daughter and her hand held mine tightly but like an older sister...

We said no words to each other but our hearts spoke for us, comforting each other in our loss. We lost a great dad, a person God gave us to love us with everything, but I was not alone and neither was she. We had each other now and that too was a gift from God. 

Life is hard to see right now.
We don't know how we will make it but we will make it.