If He Had Turned 67.

 Today, my father would have been 67. Instead, he has been gone for eleven years. 

He died in his 50s. Fifties. An age we now call "still young". An age we assume we will reach. An age we assume we will surpass. 

Time is arrogant when you are young. It sits beside you and whispers, "relax. There is plenty of me".

There isn't. When I was a child, I saw my father through the eyes of a daughter. Now, I see him through the eyes of a woman. And it changes everything. 

He was not a perfect father.  He did not always say the right things. He did not always do the right things. He was not gentle when he should have been, nor was he strong when I needed him to be.

But now, as an adult, I see something else.

I see a man who was always sick. a body that betrayed him. A mind that carried more than it should have. A man raised in a world that did not teach boys how to cry, how to heal, and how to process trauma.

I see now what I could not see then. He was not just a father. He was a scared boy in a grown man's body.

A boy who desperately wanted to be loved. 

And life, life does not wait for us to become whole before it hands us responsibilities. It hands you children. It hands you bills. It hands you expectations. It hands you pride, and sometimes, it hands you sickness.

We think we have decades, but decades collapse into dust faster than we can imagine.

So, if there is a trip in your heart, take it. If there is love in your chest, show it. If there is gratitude in your mouth, speak it, and if there is a hug you are withholding, release it.

fell everything. The anger. The gratitude. The grief. The relief and the love. Do not numb yourself to survive. Feel it. That is what makes you alive. 

My father was always sick. 

And now, I understand something else. Health is not optional.

We postpone checkups. We ignore symptoms. We medicate blindly. We mock herbs. We dismiss rest and consume stress for breakfast. We assume the body will just endure. It will not.

If you can, learn your body. Care for it. Explore medicine in its fullness, both modern and herbal. Respect what god placed in leaves and roots as much as what is bottled and branded. 

Because sometimes, what we call "later" can become "too late." Today would have been 67.

I wish I could sit across from him now, not as a child demanding perfection, but as a woman offering understanding. I would tell him, "I see you now."

Not just as my father, but as a human. And maybe, that is the real gift of grief. It grows you into the kind of person who understands what you once judged. 

Happy birthday, Daddy.

I hope wherever you are, you finally feel safe and seen. I hope you finally feel loved. And I hope I live my life in a way that does not waste the time you did not get to keep.💕

With love,

Margaret (Kaego).