There are certain moments in life that settle quietly inside you, moments you don’t talk about often but you carry everywhere you go. Some memories fade on their own, some lose their sharpness with time, but a few stay exactly where they landed, untouched, unchanged, unforgettable.
For me, one of those moments is the day I lost my dad. It’s not a memory I revisit willingly, and it’s definitely not one I like to sit with for long. I don’t wish to forget him, not his voice, not his jokes, not the little habits that made him who he was. What I sometimes wish I could forget is the weight of that day, the finality of it, and how it carved a space inside me that nothing else has been able to fill.
Last week marked five years he passed and even after years, the memory holds a certain kind of sting. Some days it feels distant, like something that happened in another lifetime. Other days, it returns with full force, triggered by a song, a movie, a random thought, or even a quiet moment. Losing him became one of those life-defining points that split my journey into “before” and “after.”
But no matter how much I might want that particular memory to fade, I know I cannot forget it. It is woven into who I am now. That day changed me, shaped how I see life, and deepened my understanding of love, loss, and the fragility of everything we think will last forever. Forgetting it would almost feel like trying to lift out a page from a book, everything before and after would make less sense.
Over time, I’ve learned that remembering doesn’t always mean hurting, and forgetting doesn’t always mean healing.
So even though I sometimes wish I could remove that one painful moment from my life, I’ve accepted that it stays with me because it was real, it mattered, and it made me stronger.
This piece was written in response to the Week 286 Weekend Engagement topic, "What have you wished you could forget but cannot? Explain."
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