writing this is gonna make it more real and i hate that. but i lost my dad two weeks ago. he was very sick for the last two months and i've come to learn that, even if you think you're prepared for anything, you're just kidding yourself. you're not ready to see him with his eyes closed in the morgue, still warm. you're not ready to bury him on that hill. you're not ready to go home and find his glasses and books and his old cardigan still smelling like him. you're not ready to look at old pictures of him smiling all full of life and love and joy and think how much more he could've seen. you're not ready to let go yet. i wasn't. i still am not.
he was a bit grumpy like most turkish dads are. he had a quick temper, he was impatient and stubborn which i completely got from him. i see so much of him in myself, which is funny because when he was alive i kinda hated that. now that these are the only parts of him i'll get to keep, i love them. because he was also so funny and so naive and so young at heart, they rubbed off on me too. he was a hafız, a man of faith, and a devoted teacher to hundreds of children. he came from a little village and made a little life for us as best as he could. i'll be forever thankful for that. we never got to say goodbye because i never wanted to make him feel like he wouldn't get better, but i hope that he knows he was a good dad. i hope that he knows he was a good man.
we had our fights like every father and daughter, but now looking back, i don't even remember most of them. when he dropped me off at my collage dorm he pretended he wasn't crying. he tried so hard to hide parts of him that could break my heart. i wish he didn't. i hope he knows how much i love him.
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