Read Dear Father :: 1-1-5 Funeral

As a boy recently turned ten, such a confrontation with loss was too much for me to bear. The very idea of ceasing to exist terrified me in ways no monsters nor imagination could: I had convinced myself that death essentially meant losing everything. No more books to read, nor unseen corners to explore, not even the warmth of the sun in summer – rather there would be nothing at all. Gentle by nature, the very idea had filled me with such dread that I hid in my room in the days that followed.

If I was not trying to reconcile the death of my grandfather, I was afraid that death would come for me too, causing my disposition to waver between tears and fear. This disturbed my father, who held one’s composure to a great standard of stoicism and nobility. It was a lost cause to hold me to such rigidity though, for youthful behaviour tends to exist regardless of what is expected of it, and even more so because my very being is of a sensitive kind.

On the second day of me hiding in my room, and refusing all interaction in favour of reading a book while nested between the window and the curtains my father decided to come to me. The prose had given me something to latch onto amongst the waves of emotions, making it a little less likely for me to burst into tears or suddenly finding myself hopelessly aware I too could die. Only for that to come undone when the curtain was pulled back.

"Lucian." My father had spoken sternly, and I nearly dropped the book out of fright. "You cannot hide for eternity.”

I swallowed and clutched the hefty tome to my chest as if it was a shield. That response was not what my father had wished for, the disapproval in his gaze told me as such. I am still uncertain however what it was that he did expect from me during such a time.

“Do you really wish for others to see that instead of braving this trial, you hide away?”

I shook my head, despite not knowing how else I should behave – or rather, how to ignore my emotions to such a degree that I could appear brave when I did not feel it.

My father took note of my trepidation, and sighed softly. Certain that I had disappointed him, I grasped the book tighter and averted my gaze. Rather than leaving it at that, my father took a knee. His expression had eased somewhat, and he took the book from me as if removing a barrier so I had no choice but to listen to him.

“You see, there are those who would take advantage of your fears. Sooner than you may believe and with worse consequences than you could imagine. One must bear courage so as to protect their heart. Do you understand?”

I did, so I nodded. But rather than making me courageous, as my father probably had hoped, I now had my own emotions to be frightened of.