Death is not a concept yet formed in the mind of a child,

until she wakes up one morning: fatherless;

and she is forced to understand it, too quickly, too soon.

He died when I was five years old,

leaving my mother with three children under the age of six.

Leaving me with a hole in my heart—

the place where a father’s love should be.

With nothing to fill the emptiness,

and no one to teach me the things a father should,

I found myself learning from death.

People aren’t forever.

They tell you they’ll always be there, but it’s a promise they can’t keep.

You will always feel pain.

It doesn’t go away, the way the funeral-goer promised.

Some things you cannot change.

You can wish and cry and pray him back, but he will remain in the grave.

Death foreshadowed all my hardships,

death crushed a little girl’s dreams,

death left me helpless and alone

with long-pursuing consequences and an aching darkness that would never fully leave.

But death taught me to love.

If I never see my mom again,

will I think fondly on our last conversation?

If my brothers don’t come home one night,

will I regret the ways I treated them?

If my friend disappears forever,

will I have my unkindness to blame?

Or will I choose to love people well,

stand beside the hurting, encourage the broken,

love those who have no love for me, play games with my family,

speak kindly when spoken against, and treasure every moment,

with everyone I know;

show them that I love because death once took love from me?

When death takes from someone else,

I will be the one who shows them they can love.

Because of death.