New Horizon

Big loss, New city

{ Alarm clock ringing }
As the alarm clock blared, I jolted awake from my slumber. "Aaargh!!" I cried out, my hand swiftly reaching for the clock resting on the table beside my bed. With a surge of frustration, I flung it against the wall, watching it crash to the ground, shattered. Perhaps I shouldn't have done that, but the overwhelming emotions consumed me. Today marks my first day at the new school, a prospect I dread. The thought of starting anew, meeting strangers, fills me with anxiety. Emotions swirl within me, a chaotic mix I struggle to comprehend as the day looms closer. Why this move to a foreign place? Why did Dad have to depart now? These questions echoed in my mind, unanswered.

Dad died on my last day as a sophomore, I'm going to be a senior by the time we resume... On that fateful day, as I hurried home from school, my heart brimming with excitement and anticipation for the summer break, a heavy silence greeted me on our porch. The sight of the solemn faces and the sea of black attire worn by the assembled guests painted a stark picture. In that moment, the cruel reality hit me like a ton of bricks. Dad had departed; his earthly journey had reached its end. Tears, unbidden, streamed down my cheeks, my legs giving way beneath the weight of my emotions as I collapsed to the ground. Amidst the chaos of my grief, Mrs. Anderson, our compassionate neighbor, rushed to my side, enfolding me in a tender embrace. "Oh Jaz," her voice a gentle murmur, her touch a balm to my shattered soul. In that comforting shelter, the dam holding back my tears crumbled, and I surrendered to the rawness of my sorrow, finding solace in her compassionate arms as I wept openly and unreservedly.

I reckon the day would eventually arrive, though a part of me clung to the hope that it might not. Dad got diagnosed with liver cancer about three months back and has been holed up in the hospital since then. A few weeks before the diagnosis, he had these relentless coughing fits, and his eyes started turning a shade of yellow... "Dad, you feeling alright?" I asked, hearing his coughs echo from the kitchen. "I'm good, love... just something stuck in my throat," he replied. I brushed it off, oblivious to the signs. He downplayed the symptoms until that one dreadful day when he collapsed, leading to a frantic rush to the hospital. By then, he was in a critical state, in dire need of a transplant. All we could do was wait anxiously, hoping for a donor to emerge soon. I made it a ritual to visit him daily after school; Dad was more than a father, he was my confidant, my constant. Mom was always tied up with work, leaving me and Dad to navigate through life together. Our conversations spanned everything, from the mundane to the milestones, like the first time I got my period. Every visit was filled with talks about my day, shared laughter about classmates and neighbors, and dreams of the future, even though the odds were stacked against his recovery. I eagerly mentioned my excitement for prom, expressing my desire to capture a moment with him in my dress. "I already feel better," he assured me, attempting to shake off his discomfort. "I wouldn't miss it for the world... wear a blue dress, it's my favorite color, and it complements your eyes," he said, gazing into my eyes with unwavering certainty.

Tears cascaded down my cheeks, a somber river of memories flooding my soul as Mrs. Anderson guided me into the house. My steps faltered, my feet unsteady, trembling from the weight of silent sobs within. All eyes turned towards me, brimming with sympathy, as I made my entrance. Amidst the hushed gazes, I glimpsed my mother seated on the floor of the living room, clutching a framed photograph of Dad. Her sky blue eyes, once bright with vitality, now dulled with grief, fixed on the image before her deep in thoughts. Stray strands of ebony hair escaped her messy bun, framing her face in disarray. Though her tears remained unshed, I sensed the profound sorrow etched within her, a loss palpable in the very essence of her being. Mom and Dad shared a love so profound, a bond I revered. Their relationship, a beacon of affection, a tapestry of devotion I longed to emulate. Dad, a jester at heart, radiated humor and warmth, infusing life with his playful spirit. Even in his final moments, he wove jokes into the fabric of our grief, his laughter a balm to soothe our sorrow. Mom, serene and composed, a pillar of strength, her ambitions driving her forward. Their differences, like threads in a tapestry, intertwined to form a harmonious whole. Dad often marveled at their unlikely love story, acknowledging Mom's expectations surpassed his own. "I don't know how I won your heart, Sandra," he'd jest, a twinkle in his eye, a love story for the ages. My mom, an epitome of elegance and grace, possesses a striking beauty that captivates all who behold her. Standing tall with a slender figure, her wavy ebony hair cascades like a midnight waterfall, framing her face adorned with bright blue eyes, a straight, pointy nose, and small, full ombré lips that exude a soft pink hue. She embodies the essence of a supermodel, a vision of allure and sophistication. In a moment of candid reflection, she shared with me, "I had countless suitors vying for my attention, even to this day. Your dad may not have fit society's idea of perfection, but to me, he was flawless. I would choose him again and again." My heart swelled with warmth at her words, understanding the depth of their love in her unwavering choice.