When I saw Opa declining and lost, on his own without Oma and struggling, I made a vow that I wouldn't abandon the only father figure that had been there for me. My fragile peace and psyche had lost so much and the only foundation I had left needed me.
I ran home to dedicate my life to giving back and being there for him like he always had for me. It was the absolute least I could do, and how I felt I could actually be helpful and do something positive and impactful and make a difference that could give back to the precious few family I had left.
I know I'm not perfect, nor am I the amazing and tireless housewife Oma was. But every single thing I did I did from a place of bottomless, deep love and gratitude filled with the years and lessons he gave me. And I do not regret one single minute of it despite everything I went through.
I'll never forget the last time I left him, seemingly settled on his own. “You know I'll always love you.” There was something in the way he said it, a finality, like he knew he wouldn't see me like that again. And by the time I made it back to him, he couldn't speak. But I knew.
That loss, the loss of the final, perfect father figure, undid me. And I still struggle, but I wake up every day wrapped in his love and hopes and wishes for me, and I try to live my life in his image.
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