‘I’m not dead; I’m just tired’. That’s what you said to me in my dream. I run upstairs to your room–for what, I cannot tell–but it was at your door that I finally woke up and realised that I’d been dreaming. I’m perpetually broken.
Oh, Daddy. I thought we were going to have you around forever. I still cannot believe that we will never see you again. Every morning, whether I liked it or not, you’ll call me from my room to say you were leaving for work or to the golf course or somewhere. We’ll fight small (because you thought I slept too much), and then you’ll leave. You were always only a phone call away. Even at work, I’d pester you with a barrage of questions regarding my studies, personal decisions, and eventually, work. My late tribute to you is even proof that it’ll take a while before I finally find my footing again. I’m devastated by your passing. Even though we live together, I’ve been in denial. I never truly fully accepted the fact that you won’t be with us again. Daddy, my Daddy, comfort me. Please comfort me.
How do I bid you goodbye? Oh, Daddy! You loved us so deeply and selflessly that you became everyone’s Super Dad. How? I can’t believe that I am writing you a tribute, Daddy. This is all so surreal.
I miss you so terribly. Sometimes I imagine the sound of your footsteps against the tiles upstairs and feel oddly comforted. All I wanted to do the day you left us was to put on one of your shirts and cuddle a pillow in your bed. My spirit is broken. I love you, Daddy. I always will.
The whole world is singing your praises, Daddy. You were loved, deeply respected, honoured, and appreciated. Your legacy is firmly planted. It will stand the test of time.
Say hello to my Dad and Papa for me. I think of them every day.
May God keep your soul and guard your spirit until we meet again.