70's Jazz

Death Doesn't Discriminate

I ran to my room and quickly started to write. I wrote a letter to the school I wanted to go to and told them to cancel my pending spot. Dead? He can't be. I believed. That was the one time I believed in myself because I was believing in him! Why would he do that to me? Dead? Dead. Dead. My dad is dead. My father is dead. I went down the basement. The air thick of mildew and dust. I opened a rectangular case and pulled out my father saxophone. "I miss you." I whispered. I ran my fingers over the pads. I remember all the evenings the house was filled with saxophone music. The neighbors often complained because my dad just played all night. I chuckled to the thought. Those neighbors finally had enough because they moved. The nights him and I would play jazz music all day. Tears ran down my face. I ran to my room to get my trumpet. "Believe in yourself." Those words echoed through my mind. I will never forget him. He isn't gone. He is dead but not gone. As long as I remember those words he will never be gone. 

Is that why that nurse wouldn't let me see him. Is that why mom didn't let me see him. He taught me trumpet. He wanted me to play saxophone but I insisted trumpet. He taught me how to talk. To walk. To run. To ride a bike. To drive. He was always there for those milestones. I've always been a daddy's girl. What am I supposed to do without him? I feel like a piece of me died with him. A piece of me did. When that piece died a new piece grew with me. I grew confidence. My dad taught me one last thing before he died. He taught me the importance of confidence. For that I will love him eternally.

What do I do? That was my first thought. I didn't know what to do. I'd always been dependent on my dad. For advice. Help. Love. He was always there. Part of the reason he retired early was because of me. We had a special bond. I love my mother but it's different with my dad. My dad was always fond of me. He didn't want to admit it but he did love me more than Ghram. Ghram knew that. That is also why his and my father's relationship was strained. He would be shameful because of it but he just wanted to be there for me. When mom had that miscarriage I bet he was destroyed. I know he would've loved that child like he loves me. My heart hurt. When they say "heartbroken" I never would have thought they were serious. It felt like my heart was filled with a gallon of water. Tears wouldn't stop flowing. I'm hopeless. 

I went out on several streets and just played. I played for hours. At that point I felt alive. I swear I could've heard his saxophone but when I stopped I didn't hear it. I went to the plaza, café, and park just playing. So many people gave me tips and I got a good amount of cash. I had to play. For him. My brother found me at the park. I was lying on the side of the fountain dipping my fingers in the water. "Giselle. C'mon." He whispered. "Do you know?" I asked. "Mhm" He confirmed. He picked me up and carried me to the car. I stood on my own and hugged him. "I miss him." I sniffled. "I know." Ghram assured. "My trumpet." I reminded. Ghram went to get it. By the time he was back I was already sleeping. I feel so empty. What am I supposed to do without my dad? When did he die? Where is he? I need to save money for the funeral. He would like that. He would be proud. I believe that.