Journal Entry: Remembering My Father
It’s strange, how memories work. Even when someone we love is no longer here, they somehow remain—woven into the fabric of everything we are, of everything we see. Appearing in dreams, with his strong hands, and powerful presence. I find myself keeping the faith that my father is still out there, somewhere. Not gone, but waiting, sailing on a sea that stretches endlessly, beyond what we can imagine. I still have visions of him on his boat, gliding smoothly over the water, following the wind.
I like to think that this is what he’s doing now in the universe: navigating the winds and waves with the same quiet confidence he always had. And one day, he’ll call for me again, and I’ll be ready to help take down the sails, just like before. I was never the one guiding the boat, with his strong muscles at the tiller, I was there to pull up the bright, billowing colors and, on the way home, as they came down, carefully pack them up for the next time we were ready to head out on the water together, as a family.
These memories—they feel like anchors, keeping him close. It comforts me, thinking that in some way, he’s still out there, and that I’ll join him again someday, to sail together on that endless sea. Until then, I carry his love and his spirit with me, a part of every journey I take.
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