I m writing this post in the middle of the night at the Barcelona’s airport, where I am spending the night before taking a plane to go to Fuerteventura.
I am coming back from a 3 weeks holidays in my hometown. It’s been long time since I stopped so long back home. It was also the first time I went to my father’s grave, alone, and stayed there for about 1 hour.
It’s been 24 years, but I still miss him, so much. When I was there, I started talking to him. Few weeks before, during one of my meditation session, I started recollecting memories of me and him, before he got sick.
I remembered his face, his voice. Going with him on his vespa, or ape or with the car. I remembered the time he taught me swimming, I remember this feeling of safety I had with him. I was the happiest and safest child in the world.
It felt weird looking at that grave, I never stayed so long next to him. The thing is, I did not want to leave. I realised that for so many years I avoided thinking to him, I escaped the pain I felt for his loss.
It’s a sort of trick that I used often in my life. Escape pain, no matter what. This time I faced it, I looked at his grave and told myself that “yes, he is gone and yes, I miss him. More than anything else in this world”.
I loved and admired my father, he always knew what to do. He never had doubts and he always made the right choice. One night I prayed and asked him for help. That night I had a dream, a dream of a man telling me that my father “always knew which is the best wine”. I guess it was my subconscious, but the point is that he wanted me to learn, he wanted me to be able to face life, even more when he knew he would not see me grow up.
I spent my life trying to be like him. But I am not. And this hurt me, a lot.
It’s been a rough year for me, went through so many things in my life that I would need a book only to talk about it. I asked him for help many times, but even if there is life after death or he would be able to talk with me, I know he will never do it.
Because as him did, I have to learn how to choose the best wine. He wanted me to be the best. At school, in life, in everything. He wanted me to “grow up” and be a man, as soon as possible. But I could not see myself growing up without him, his advices, the feeling of safety I had with him. I often feel like I failed him, and maybe it’s true. But this year I made my promise: I will learn how to choose the best wine.
Because yes, it’s true. I am not like him, and I will never be. But he was the best dad ever, and I am his son, I could not be more proud of it.