It had been 19 days since Papa passed away. I remembered how he wanted me to drive a car and said that if I could, it would be given to me. Then here I was. The vehicle had changed ownership to be mine. Why did it feel so empty?
I was often angry with him because he kept pushing me to learn to drive. On his last day, I had not had a chance to say sorry and goodbye. Why was time running so fast? Why did it not allow me to admit my mistakes?
I stared at the car blankly. Every time I saw this car, it always reminded me of him. This car was his favorite. Regret attacked me repeatedly like lightning strikes. I went into the house and ventured to look inside Papa’s gallery. People said that a photo or video brought memories, so I wondered what kind of memories Papa always kept for himself.
The moment I opened the gallery, I could see many of our family’s photos. My photo that I didn’t even know he took, and his beloved car—the photos he took look very pretty and natural. I tried to close my eyes to strengthen myself from crying. The second I closed my eyes, the memories played, and I returned to the beginning.
The moments we walked with our dogs every Sunday, the moments we played badminton every afternoon, the moments we had family trips together, the moment when we celebrated my seventeenth birthday. Until when he was lying weak in the hospital, and the moment when I hadn’t got a chance to say goodbye. The afterimage that keeps popping in my head makes me dizzy.
I felt like I was going to drown in my grief, but I quickly stilled myself. I had to say my final goodbye to Papa. Then I remembered the Japanese custom of flying lanterns in honor of the departed. Some people said it was called memory lanterns. It let you whispered something to someone you lost, and the lantern would carry the message to them in the sky.
Mama noticed what I was doing and asked what the lantern was for, to which I simply smiled and stated it was my final goodbye to Papa. She just smiled and waited for me to finish what I had started. Here’s my letter:
Hi, Pa! It’s me, Leah. How’s it going up there? Is it no longer hurting you? Are you still just as powerful as you used to be? I really miss you. Really. I was composing this letter specifically for you today. I hope you receive this letter. I apologize, Pa, because the last time I was annoyed with you about little matters. I’m sorry you didn’t see me at my best, and I’m sorry I never said: “I love you.” Why is it so difficult for me to say it to you if it is only eight letters? Maybe I was arrogant about it. Sorry for not saying it earlier, but I want to say it now. Thank you for being on my side. Thank you for every memory we’ve been through together. I’m sorry I missed out on my final goodbye. I am also very grateful because you made my life more meaningful. Thank you for guiding me all this time. Oh, and also, I wanted to tell you I now have a driver’s license! Isn’t it better up there? I know you can see me from there. Now is my time to let you go and say goodbye. Goodbye, Pa. See you in another life. I love you. –Leah.
I flew the lantern in my backyard at night. I could see it moving upward. I stared at it until it vanished. I drew a deep breath after it was gone. I smiled and rushed into the house, looking for Mama. I hugged her. “I love you,” I told Mama, both of us teary-eyed.
Author: Erica Rafaella
Editor: Desca Geovani Kristi, Ruth Tirza Arina (QC)
Illustrator: Angelita Dayang Diva