After a long night of partying on South Beach with everybody tryna escape reality—using drugs and alcohol to mute their thoughts and emotions, I too was still throwing back shots at 6am, finally leaving the after hours spot. I was 21, alone in Miami, living “The Life” as my friends back home would call it. I didn’t know a bad day besides when work was slow. “Lyric, ya phone is ringing..” “Who is it?” I asked my home girl who was closest to my phone. “It say Daddy, want me to answer it?” She had asked me. We were all so fucked up, ain’t no way I could have a good talk with my father like that. “Nah I’ll call him back tomorrow”.

My father was sick. He was waiting on a liver transplant so he was in a facility being cared for until he received it. Every day we would have our morning routine talks on the phone; being as though we were 17 hours away from each other. Every day we spoke, well except for this day. I was an adult so our conversations differed from when I was a child. We had gotten so much closer over the past year. We spoke about everything you can think of. Spirituality, God, Money, Love, life lessons, pain and trauma that was caused. My daddy wasn’t the greatest father but I always knew he loved me more than his addiction. I just felt it. I have memories of embarrassing moments with him being drunk when I was a child but I’ve always forgiven him. He never hurt me or put me in any actual danger..only himself.

He wasn’t always a drunk though. When my mother and him were married, he was amazing. A chef, a man with great humor and much love to give. People only speak goodness when mentioning those days. I was young so there isn’t much I remember— All I know is that he lived in his purpose.
Then it all changed. What caused it? We didn’t actually get into that but I never judged him. Even with his disease, I still preferred to be with my father. A daddy’s girl I guess you could say.

It’s been 10 years since his passing and I still hurt. It hurts so bad, I can’t even talk about it aloud. The pain runs deep. Deeper than anything I’ve experienced and I’ve had a fucked up life. I think it most stems from regret. Why the fuck didn’t I answer his phone call? Was what I was doing THAT important that I couldn’t just answer and say “Daddy it’s not a good time. Everything okay?” I always wonder like what if he was calling to tell me that it’s time? And he just wanted to say goodbye.. I beat myself up for not answering that call. This shit hurt so bad, I can’t even allow myself to feel it to the core. The surface pain is enough. I can’t even fucking watch a movie involving a father and daughter’s relationship without unraveling. I hate myself for not answering a call to what would’ve been our last conversation. My dad.. my only love. It’s not fair how death just creeps in. It ruins families, relationships, lives.. spirits. It ruined mine.

It’s been a whole decade and I now have a family of my own. My oldest is ironically extremely fond of my father. She loves him as if she’s known him. She often brings him up in conversation, asks to hear stories and honestly it’s a bit therapeutic for me. At time it’s hard to speak about him without crying. Regret continues to breathe down my neck.

My daughter recently asked “What’s the biggest mistake you’ve ever made?” I didn’t hesitate to tell her that the last time my father called me, I didn’t answer.. my intentions were to call him tomorrow but tomorrow never came.