Fall

I died a few years ago. From what? It doesn't matter. I waited for death. I thought it would be liberating. On the other hand, I stopped feeling physical pain, but the emotional pain increased. I hadn't seen it coming. I didn't know I had stored up so much pain. 

I've always felt close to my granddaughter, she's like me. She's always been very sensitive, and when her parents divorced, she thought it was her fault, she was still a child. I told her no, that she was enough and loved. She began to get close to me, to see me as a father, and I didn't want to be ill at that time. But I was. I didn't expect that, on the day I left, she would be there to watch me die. Yet she was and she saw. How that still hurts me now, after so long. I stayed close to her, looking out for her, she always needed me. I think she feels me, or at least I like to think she does. 

I've always stayed close to the rest of my family too, I always thought they could change and improve. I was wrong. I am wrong. Day after day, since I died, they've turned into worse people, full of lies, always against each other, self-centered, manipulative and narcissistic. I hate to think of my children like that, I like them, but I don't know them anymore. Could it be that they were already like this when I was alive, and I didn't see it? Was I blind or naive for believing and seeing the best in people? I don't know. I had faith in them and expectations. Maybe that was my mistake. 

I tried. I tried to help them in every way. Make them see, open their eyes. I've tried to make them remember the moments we spent together, but they no longer remember or want to remember. I've tried to make them remember the person they were, but they don't exist anymore. I fight every day to make them hear me, I shout, I make my presence known and nothing. Impotence. I wonder where I went wrong, but I don't know anymore, or am I becoming like them? Have I become like them? I shake my head vigorously. No. I've never neglected a nephew of mine. I never did the minimum and thought I was a good person. I've always tried to be a good person, but I'm not perfect, far from it. I've made mistakes. However, as I have no regrets, they have stayed with my body and not in my soul. I know who I am. 

It hurts me to see my granddaughter. As she has grown up, almost nothing has improved. Her suffering is silent, but no one wants to listen. Mine is loud, but no one listens. I hear her suffering. I try to help her in any way I can. She is strong and carries on. While I reprimand them, the rest of my family, in my heart. 

I honestly don't know why I carry on, why I'm not at peace, perhaps because I feel guilty. I can't help thinking that if I had stayed, if I had fought harder, everything would be different. Would it? I think it's easier to blame myself than my family. Despite everything, I still love them. And I protected them too much. That's it! I protected them too much. When they should have fallen, I put my hand on them, and I didn't let them fall. I supported them when they should have fell and so many other times, I didn't even let them stagger. As a father, I forgot that every child has to fall to learn to walk. And I didn't let them, I didn't teach them. I knew it was my fault, it had to be. 

I asked myself so many times what the difference was between them and my granddaughter, now I know, they never fell, and she fell too much. She's still a good person. Is it a person's bad times that make them good? The falls? The crying? The pain? Is it because it forces them to enjoy the good times when they have them and to be grateful? Yes, I think so. It’s necessary a bad moment to know what's good. I wish I had known this when I was alive, I would have enjoyed it more. I would have lived. Memories are all I have left. 

I remember all the moments we spent together. Filled with laughter, happiness, and hugs. Birthdays, Christmases, Easters, often simply lunches and dinners. We were poor, but happy. So many family moments. So much complicity. So much love. Now I'm crying. It seems such a waste to me. They've become such bad people that even they can't see it. I can no longer bear witness to it; I no longer have the strength. I am dead to them when I still exist. It breaks my heart. But this is what taught me. Pain. The greatest lesson is with pain, the greatest achievement is to feel it, to accept it. You either run away or you feel it, and honestly, I don't know which hurts more.

My granddaughter is getting better. She's fine now. She's put her guilt and low self-esteem behind her and has started on the road to self-love and healing. I'm so happy for her. She wants to be a writer. To me, she's already a writer, even if she's not an author yet. I'm so proud of her. If only she knew. At least I've made her happy. She will be happy. Near or far, I'll be with her every step of the way. 

As for my children, I finally realized where I went wrong, I didn't let them fall. I never protected them in a glass dome, but I also never let them bang their heads against the wall. Was I a bad father? I think they'd say so, I don't really know, they just never said they loved me. And now it's too late. They don't believe I exist. Or they prefer not to because it's easier. They run away from the pain. They've never fallen. I think it's time for me to move on. You can't hold on to the past. 

I went to my favorite place to say goodbye to earth. It's fall. My favorite season. I looked at the trees and as I watched the leaves fall, it occurred to me, there is beauty even when you fall. The greatest liberation is letting go. A huge feeling of love came over me and I felt ready.

Looking back, I thought about let them fall. How much good it will do for them. Maybe there's still time for them to become better people before their time comes. I hope so. My granddaughter will be fine. I'm leaving them. It's time for them to learn on their own, to make their own way. I'm leaving. Peace.