Hunting shadow

I often found myself reflecting on the time I spent with my father. He was my hero, a strong and soft character in the same time. When he passed away, the world felt a little dimmer, and I was left grappling with the void he left behind.

It was a cool autumn evening when I first felt his presence after his death. The leaves danced outside my window, their colors a vibrant mix of oranges and yellows. I was curled up in bed wrapped in a blanket, with a book that had long ago lost its grip on my attention. My mind wandered to memories of my father—fishing trips, the times he would sew and make clothes for my dolls and the way he would tell stories that made the mundane feel magical.

Suddenly, a chill ran down my spine. The air in the room shifted, and for a moment, I thought I felt a familiar warmth beside me. I looked up, half-expecting to see him lounging in his chair smoking like usual ,sometimes i had the feeling his finger will get burn from the cigarette butt,I can still see clearly his fingernails that get yellow from the smoke . I look everywhere but i only found silence and shadows, but deep down, I felt something—an undeniable connection.

Days turned to weeks, and I began to experience these fleeting moments more frequently. Late at night, when the world was still, I would hear whispers, soft and almost melodic, calling to me from the corners of my room. The first time it happened, I woke with a start, heart racing, as I noticed a faint glow illuminating the space . It flickered like candlelight, and as I squinted through the darkness, I saw his hand trying to reach me from the window .

Suddenly my father stood there, a shimmering silhouette bathed in a gentle light, his face looked so pale ,lifeless and his eyes sunken in his head they always had always held a spark of mischief. "Don’t be afraid, my love," he whispered, his voice like a soothing balm. "I’m here."

Tears streamed down my face as I reached out for him. I could hardly believe it. Was this real? Was my mind playing tricks on me? But as my fingers grazed the cool air, an overwhelming sense of comfort washed over me. He was here, and I was not alone.

In the weeks that followed, my father’s visits became a cherished routine. Each time, he would appear in the soft glow of twilight, sharing stories . He spoke of things I had never known—the place he goes , the dreams he chased, the regrets he carried. I listened intently, hanging on to every word, feeling the love that transcended the boundaries of life and death.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden hue across my room, my father appeared, looking more vibrant than ever. "I have something to show you," he said, his voice a gentle caress. With a wave of his hand, the room transformed. The walls faded away, and I found myself standing in a lush meadow, wildflowers swaying in the breeze.

“Where are we?” I asked, awe-struck by the beauty surrounding me.

“This is a place of memories,” he replied, his eyes sparkling with joy. “Every moment we shared is here, waiting for us to revisit.”

As he spoke, scenes began to unfold around us. I saw myself as a child, running through the fields with him, laughter echoing in the air. I watched as he taught me to ride a bike, steadying me as I wobbled, and then cheering as I finally found my balance. Each memory shimmered like a precious gem, a testament to our bond.

“It’s beautiful,” I whispered, tears of joy filling my eyes.

“This is just the beginning,” he said, his voice softening. “But there’s something important I need to tell you.”

“What is it?” I asked, my heart racing.

“Life is a journey, and love is the compass. You must carry our memories with you, but you also need to create new ones. Don’t let grief hold you back. Live for both of us.”

His words struck a chord deep within me. I realized that while I cherished our past, I had to honor his memory by embracing the future. It was a bittersweet revelation, and as the meadow began to fade, I felt a sense of determination rise within .

I decided to visit my sister and to share with her what i experience .

I knew she need aswell a closure so as i reached to her and i start telling her about the visits ,she confess that she had in the same day a visit from my father' spirit .

As we talk and connect to his memory, in that moment , both my sister and I experienced something extraordinary. We each heard a noise from the other room ,we went to check anf there was our father, his familiar face sitting on the chair . It was right there with us, he start to talk ,he told us how he wish that we forgive him for being absent moustly for my sisister that he didn't show her enough love .

I could see that this was ment to happen so she can aswell move on .

It felt like a powerful connection to him, transcending the boundaries of life and death. In that moment, we realized that his love and guidance would always be with us, reminding us to embrace each day with the same strength and kindness and to be there for each other.

As I reflect on these visits, I realize that he shaped not only my childhood but also the person I am today. Each moment spent with him, whether grand or ordinary, is a treasure I hold close to my heart. Though he is no longer physically present, his spirit lives on in the lessons he taught me and the love we shared.

In the days that followed, I began to take my father’s advice to heart. I started doing again all the things he teach me ,that made my heart sing with joy , something I had put aside after his passing.

Now I know that he will always be with me and that I should not dwell in sorrows and sadness.