Never in my life had I ever thought that at the age of seventeen years old, I would lose my father in an unexpected accident. To this day, I feel it should have never happened. I would like to think it is all a bad nightmare and that I would wake up to see my father there the next morning, but unfortunately it is not the case. There are a lot of things I did not understand back then; especially about loss, sadness, anger, and fear. When it came down to these things I did not know how to handle these emotions so I began to suppress these feelings and pretend to act like I was the same person as I was before, but I was not.
It hurt just as much to put on a mask in front of people who I knew and loved without uttering a word of what I felt in my heart. What hurt the most is that I lied to myself. My father’s name is Fernando Rivera he was born in Guadalajara, Mexico, he served in the United States Navy, and his occupation was an electrician for a cement company. The relationship between my father and I was that he motivated me to do my best in everything no matter how difficult it was whether in academics, extracurricular activities, or improving myself to be a better person.
However, what I admired about my father was that he had a hunger for knowledge, whether in literature, mathematics, history, or science it did not matter because knowledge to him was vital. Growing up, he had a motto that said “you are never too old to learn something new,” and he always emphasized the importance of being educated because he would say “Education is the one thing that will never leave you, Victoria. ” Now looking back at the things he would say it made me realize that he is right. I was seventeen years old, a happy, optimistic, naive, and kind towards people that I knew and loved.
I remember people would remark to me as being very similar to my father. However, little did I know my life would take a drastic turn for the worse on a chilly and cold month of October 18, 2013. The last thing I remember is the morning of that tragic day, which was like any other day I told my father “I will be waiting at the front of the school for you to pick me up,” and he replied “Yes, of course, be a good student, you never disappoint me,” but little did I know that this would be the last conversation I was going to have with my father.
At around 12:00pm received a text message from my mother telling me to meet her at the front office, yet for some reason I had an awful gut-feeling that something awful had happened. When I reached to the front office, I saw fear and anxiety on my mother’s face and all I can remember is my mother saying “First, we pick up your brother, then we head to the hospital. Something happened to your father. ” On the drive to the hospital, I had a mixture of feelings that were wrapped up in one tiny box, endless questions concerning my father’s condition and what was going to become of my family and I.
As my mother, my little brother, and I entered the hospital, we had heard from the doctors that our father was still in surgery. I tried to remain positive and hopeful that my father would pull through like any of the other obstacles before. Afterwards, when the surgery was over, my mother saw her husband, but when my mother came out her expression was of sadness, fear, and horrid. Yet my little brother and I begged and pleaded to our mother to let us see our father, but my mother did not want us to bear witness to what she saw in the aftermath of my father’s surgery.
My mother remained at the hospital with our father, while my little brother and I went home, met with my older sister (who was already in the house during this ordeal). I had difficulty sleeping that night because I began to have flashbacks of the seventeen years, I had spent growing up with my father, and wanting to understand what happened. So I decided to get out of bed, kneel down on my knees, clasp my hands together, and began to pray in hopes maybe my prayers would be heard. I asked “God, please help my dad heal and let him stay with us.
I swear, I will be a good daughter and person. I put my life on it. ” The next morning my siblings and I received a phone call from my mother explaining to us that we needed to come to the hospital, but once we arrived there we saw our mother, heartbroken, despair, and fear for our father’s worsened condition. We had never seen our mother in such despair; it was a shock to see our mother’s vivid emotions. My mother asked us if we wanted to see our father and we all replied “yes” and so she took all of us to see our father.
However, my siblings and I went individually, but little did we know that what we were about to witness would shatter our hearts, feelings, souls, and beliefs. What I remember about the visit was entering the ICU room (also known as the Intensive Care Unit) with my mother and putting on the hospital scrubs before seeing my father, I remember having to walk towards the hospital room where my father was in and to me that was probably the longest and most terrifying walk of my entire life. However, when I went in I remember seeing my father in the state of an induced-coma, with tubes in his mouth, and a face that even I could not recognize.
The overwhelming emotions of shock, sadness, and anger kicked in. I remember I wanted to cry, but I just could not, and then the flood of questions and doubt began: “How could this happen? ” “This is not my father! ” “Why did it happen? ” “Is this a punishment from god? ” Throughout, the visit with my father I remember talking to him and his heart monitor speeding up when he heard my voice. I expressed my love for my father and trying with all my heart, even at that moment to remain hopeful because hope was all I had.
That evening, my family and I returned to the hospital with hope and optimism that maybe his change of condition was for the better. However, instead the doctors came back, explained to us that our father’s condition had not changed and that he was declared brain dead. My mother wept and expressed her apology to us, even though she had nothing to apologize for. I have never seen my mother in such distraught and sadness that it put a load of anger in my heart that I was in a state of denial and I thought to myself, “This is impossible, what is the difference with day one up to now that the doctors are giving up? “What proof is there? ” I dwelled on these questions and the question of “what will become of my family and I? ” I yearned for wanting to turn back the clock of memories to cherish each one with compassion and happiness because I thought the loss was too great. Nothing in the world could replace the emptiness she felt in her heart. I remember my mother signing the waiver form for my father to not be an organ donor, and then she pulled him off of life-support.
The doctors told us we can have a chance to say our “goodbyes” to him, that to me was the hardest action I had ever made in my entire life as a moment like this had never crossed my mind. I recall going back to the ICU room, realizing at this very moment when looking upon my father’s face, it was not him the ventilators are breathing for him, yet I took hold of his hand and expressed everything even things that I could never tell him when he was alive. For me, the hardest part was letting go of someone whom I idolized not only as a father who accepted me for who I was, but of the person he was and to me still is.
But there is one thing I remember was telling myself that “I can not be weak, that there will never be a replacement for this loss, and I was lost in darkness not knowing if I could find the light at the end of the tunnel. ” I did not start grieving until I was nineteen years old. I was already in the Spring Semester of college. Looking back, the things that I thought and told to my 17 year old self are not true because I have realized that even though the death of my father is a big loss, even to this day.
I was blaming myself in giving this perspective that I “cannot be happy” or “my life has no meaning. Then after awhile, I began to think to myself; yes, I might not be able to find a single replacement for it. However, it is fine if it’s not just one thing, right? Even if they are small, if I gather up ten or a thousand little things. They will become a reason for me to keep going, and if I found myself in something, or if I smile, cry, or laugh from the bottom of my heart. No one can blame me. This was the answer that I was looking for was to let things move me and what I wanted was for someone to tell me it was okay to let everything out because holding things back will cause more harm than good.
Most importantly, I began to find meaning in my life even with day-to-day things as simple as having a nice day, my dreams of becoming a lawyer, hanging out with friends, or going to my favorite classes. These are the things I learned to value which took me long time to realize because if I had continue to dwell on the past of losing my father I will have gained nothing only in questions that would lead me to nowhere, but in my heart I cherish the memories with my father now more than ever.
Whereas, in the present I find meaning in my life ever with day-to-day things as simple as having a nice day, my dreams of becoming a lawyer, hanging out with friends, and going to my favorite classes. These are the things I learned to value within my life which took me a long time to realize, but it gives me reasons to continue on where each day brings adventure, excitement, and curiosity that I look forward too.