Things in Their Place

Kylie - Deephaven, Minnesota
Entered on May 24, 2008
Age Group: Under 18

Starting three years ago, March 22, 2005, if I saw trash lying around or clothes all strewn about the floor, I would quickly pick them up. I always find myself picking up after friends who carelessly leave bottles or wrappers in the lounge. My friends all think I’m crazy because of this habit, which could also be called my biggest pet-peeve. They don’t understand why I do this, and quite frankly neither do I.

I lost control of my life when my dad died of cancer, March 22, 2005. My happiness and life, rested in the hands of God, who decided it was best my dad go up to heaven. My dad was my hero. With him by my side I learned right from wrong, learned how to live, how to love, how to laugh, and how to be me. My dad was my strong tower and my fortress when I was weak. My dad was the typical family man but so much more. His life was his family, his girls. I was my “daddy’s little girl,” and, honestly, still am my daddy’s little girl. Even though my dad is not here, I always know he is with me and is watching over me.

Every milestone, my dad is there. Every ballet performance, he has the best seat in the house. Every date I go on, he has his gun cleaned and ready for use. Every night when I go to bed, he is there to say my prayers with me and give me a good night on the forehead. When I graduate from high school, he will be there clapping the loudest. When I meet my future husband, my dad will know instantly that he is the one for me. When I get married, he will be there walking me down the aisle. When I have my children, he will grandfather them. When I get old, my dad will be there to welcome me into heaven. As I run into his arms, daddy’s little girl will finally be with her daddy again.

I think about these and moments that I will experience alone. There’s never a day that passes that I haven’t wished I had my old life back. When I make a wish it’s always that my dad isn’t actually dead and that I will wake up from this nightmare. However, I know that my dad is with me every day, and that his love for me is stronger more true and more real than ever.

I realize that this is why I always pick things up. I feel that picking up and cleaning are the only ways for me to have control. Because of the death of my dad, I feel like nothing I do will make a difference, and that I shouldn’t get my hopes up because I will most likely get let down. Because I’m afraid of getting hurt again, I never depend on others; let others help me, love me.