My name is Sasha and I have a story to share.

It might be sad for you to read, but keep in mind I have come to terms with what happened to me and my family, and we are in a better place now.

This story is dedicated to all those young girls who lost a parent at a young age.

OK, here goes…

When I was twelve years old, life was like a fairy tale. I was my dad’s little princess and I even had the sparkly dress and crown to prove it.

My dad, Walter, would lift me onto his shoulder and race around our back yard. I would laugh hysterically and had no fear that he might let me fall.

A year later, however, the whole family took a tumble – and our wounds took years to heal properly.

A day like any other

The day my father died was as regular as they come. It was a Tuesday in July, and dad was getting ready for work as he always did. He worked as a stock broker in Johannesburg, and would wear his trusty tweed suit and brightly-coloured tie from Monday to Friday.

Mom woke us up like she always did, with a cup of steaming tea, and while my siblings and I dragged ourselves out of bed, we could hear my parents talking in the kitchen. Dad was complaining about chest pains he’d been having for a few days, and mom dismissed his concerns as paranoia.

I walked through with tea in hand, and dropped it when I saw my dad. He was silently clutching his chest and twisting his face as he sat at the kitchen table.

I wasn’t sure why he kept quiet, but later learned that he was in so much pain he couldn’t even make a sound. I watched as his face turned from red to blue, and then as he fell to the floor.

This was when I began screaming, as my mother spun around to witness the horror that was conspiring in our pokey little kitchen.

A rush to save a life

Mom ran to our wall phone in the passage way, and dialled the ambulance services. I was frozen in place, standing over my dad crying as he rolled on the floor clutching his sternum.

Time seemed to stop dead, and yet it all felt like it had occurred momentarily. Mom slammed the phone down once giving the dispatcher our address and ran to be at my father’s side. There was nothing we could do but wait for the paramedics to arrive.

Five minutes later dad went completely quiet, and closed his eyes. I remember asking my mother if dad was sleeping, and she kept telling me and my brothers – through rolling tears – that dad needed to rest before we took him to the hospital.

The ambulance arrived soon after, bundled him onto a stretcher, and the whole family took a ride to the hospital which was 10 minutes away from our house. Us children were hopeful that our sleeping dad would be alright, but mom just sat with her head in her hands and sobbed.

Dad was declared dead as soon as he arrived at the hospital, and before long we were in a taxi heading back home. I couldn’t understand why we were going home without dad, and my mother was in no state to explain it to me.

Coming to terms with loss

Life seemed to go on without the biggest, loudest member of our family.

It was like he had gone away for a business trip and never returned. Mom slept most of the next year, and my brothers had to grow up very quickly to help keep the home going.

I had read about how small inanimate objects linked to a passed loved one helped those left behind cope with the loss, and the article suggested things like beaded bracelets, tattoos and glass memorials.

I was way too young for a tattoo, and the beaded bracelets weren’t really my thing, but the glass memorial idea resonated with me.

The catalogue featured beautiful glass art pieces with swirling colours and patterns that captivated me like nothing before. The procedure required a small sample of cremation ash, and my mind immediately went to dad’s urn that was placed above our fireplace after his funeral.

My older brother thought it was a great idea to memorialise dad in stunning glass, and I was happy to find out he had ordered a memorial orb in blue and red (dad’s favourite colours) for each of us.

Healing hearts with time

It’s ten years later, and I still look at dad’s memorial orb with a smile every single morning.

I have him on my bedside table, and I am consoled on a daily basis by the knowledge that dad is close to me when I’m home.

The pain doesn’t go away.

It never will.

But you learn to channel it into positive areas of your life, and remember the happy times you were awarded with the person you loved. And with a beautiful way to remember them by, they’ll be a part of your life forever.

Stay strong, keep your head up, and remember your departed love one is always near.

Love,

Sasha