After my dad died I was having a really hard time dealing with it and I was told it might help to write a letter to him for some closure. This is a part of that letter:
I was soaked; I was working and there was a Monsoon in Chinatown that day. The cheap umbrellas kept turning inside out from the wind gusts. Two of my umbrellas were already broken and I kept buying more. I don’t know why because I was already soaked. Maybe in my subconscious I already knew I was losing you and you were my umbrella from the storm. You are my life protector and without you what was to become of me.
When your father dies, say the Irish
You lose your umbrella against bad weather.
People were bustling and getting ready for the holidays. There were many smells that protruded through the wind gusts and heavy rain. I remember the smells – they were so strong. There were roasted ducks and pigs in the shop windows and the smells of fresh fish everywhere. The Christmas and Neon lights were blurry from the water in my eyes. I couldn’t tell if it was raindrops or tears anymore. You were (my father) dying and there wasn’t much time. People seemed to look at me and wonder what I was doing there in China town that night. I must have looked out-of-place. It felt like a surreal dream and I might wake up at any moment. There was a Caucasian man who lingered in the shadows and looked at me with such deep eyes; he asked me if I was ok. I said yes, and we both smiled briefly. I could feel his eyes upon me as I walked away. I didn’t feel safe. I finally finished my work and I was driving home. I remember sitting in traffic on the FDR highway in my wet clothes in a strange kind of trance. Nina Simone’s Don’t let me be Misunderstood was on the radio and I kept thinking; what was I was doing in Chinatown when you were so close to death.
Startled, I got an unexpected call from a friend and It broke me out of my trance as I continued to drive home. The caller lifted my spirits.
The next day I returned to Chinatown. It was Christmas Eve and you were leaving me, the sun was bright and everything looked different.
The light of the morning decomposes everything.–Haruki Murakami
By Jloz. Love and Happiness.