Today is my father’s 60^th birthday. It is a milestone year and while most would be celebrating reaching this level of life, my father is not because he is no longer physically present.

I lost my father in the early morning hours of a Monday in March 2015 due to a tragic accident in which he chose to save others’ lives by giving his.

No, he was not a firefighter, nor a police officer, and though he was an army vet, this wasn’t a situation where he was in the line of duty. No, my father was a man who was performing his regular job as a truck driver, driving into our hometown of Pittsburg, CA. The problem, due to the negligence of the company he worked for to perform adequate maintenance to the truck he drove, the brakes went out as he was on a downward incline of Railroad Ave. Witnesses reported that they could smell the brakes burning as my father attempted to stop, as he honked the horn, waiving people out of the way. It was too late; the brakes were gone. Seeing that there were several cars ahead, my father obviously decided to lessen the possibility of injuring or killing others by instead making the decision to turn his truck into a building that blew up upon impact.

Wow, right!?

I have tried to spare myself of the thoughts of what it took to make such a split-second decision of that magnitude, a decision that, no matter which way he decided, was going to impact peoples’ lives, be it strangers, friends, or his family. He is a father of five. I’ve also tried to spare myself of thinking what he felt, if anything, after the collision. My hope is he did not feel anything. But the issue with me is that I am not made that way, I am an overthinker most times and things must make sense to me. I have never been able to fully come to grips of why he chose to make this decision. To be honest, it’s none of my business.

I do know that my father was a praying man, so I know this was not a decision he made without talking to God first, but I wonder if he knew he was created for such a moment.

Christmas dinner 2014, that was the last time I physically saw my father. He came suited up it a light blue suit to my aunt and uncle’s home. I thought it was odd because no one else dressed up, nor had I ever seen him come to a holiday dinner dressed that way. After dinner, and very much unexpectedly, my father said to me, “you know, if anything happens to me, you’re in charge of everything.” I remember being perplexed and at the same time a little perturb that he would say such a thing to me, not to mention, on Christmas. Christmas has not been the same since then for me.

When the news of his passing came out, once I had a moment to calm a bit, I remember thinking back to that Christmas day and the words he spoke. Did he know something we did not know? Is that why he was able to make that split-decision? I don’t know, I suppose I never will.

Many lauded my father a hero for the decision he made, and how can I disagree, I won’t, however, for me, I struggle will feeling robbed.

I am the oldest child and his only daughter, until proven otherwise. Our relationship was not always a good one, but the last 5 years of his life we were mended and on great terms. My father was supportive of my poetry and told me to put my book out in one of our last conversations. He also talked about how dope it would be if me and my brother, the third oldest who sings and plays the keys, would be able to collaborate on a project together. We may have to go ahead and do that in honor of him.

Call me selfish, but as my father and I were just beginning our new groove, he left and that is where the thievery feeling comes into play.

I had always been the little girl chasing to be my father’s little girl, chasing a validation of some sorts. Proudness from him, and the moment I am beginning to feel like I can start tippy toeing in it, he must go? How is that fair? We had discussions that still needed to occur. Points of healing that still needed to be completed, but I have been left to have to figure that part on my own.

I do not know why I am built this way, built to have to do this heavy lifting when it comes to situations in my life; I tend to question God a lot about it, I don’t care, frown at that if you want because no one has given me a manual on how to be me and get through this as me. But someday, I will.

Regardless, on this day, I honor my father. He may be absent in body, but his spirit is very present. I sometimes see him in my dreams and though it may not be as often as I like, his presence is welcomed whenever he shows up.

Happy 60^th birthday, dad! I love you! You will never be forgotten!