He had left for work in the morning with a smile on his face. Little did I know just half an hour later, my whole world would turn upside down. Just 30 minutes afterward we got a call from the hospital and we were rushing there by taxi.
Mum crying, myself carrying my younger sister and not being allowed in, I was baffled by what was happening. I was only a 6-year-old kid at the time with my younger sister being 2 and mum only at the young age of 24.
We were all heartbroken and in shock, not even being able to put together what and how this was possible. To this day I have the image of him in a coffin nailed into my head and heart, from the look on his face to his clothes and to my mum crying beside his forever resting body. This peaceful body that was before our eyes was the same man I called my dad, the man who wanted to give me the world was now no longer in it. Little did I know that this would be the last glance I would ever have of his resting face.
We were abandoned and lost, a young mother of two in a foreign place, whose language she didn’t speak nor understood with two extremely young kids. Everyone had left us, from our family to even friends, no communication nor support was given.
With all this happening in my life I had locked myself up and my heart was under this giant boulder of pain, confusion, and anger. Sharing nothing, talking to no one, acting happy but never being.
Although I was scarred for life, I knew I had to come out of this prison cell in order for myself to move on with my life. One thing I learnt from this is that moving on doesn’t mean forgetting, but rather forgiving yourself and everyone so you can turn your head forward and start walking again.
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