Before you proceed, I do not recommend this read if you have not lost anyone dear to you. I recommend this piece if you want to understand how people (me) process pain and the everlasting effects of losses on their development.

For me, the world shifted on its axis the day I lost my father, Kwame. It wasn't just the absence of a familiar face; it was the dismantling of a bedrock i relied on so heavily. The vibrant tapestry of my life, woven with the threads of family and tradition, now felt frayed at the edges. I was left navigating a world that sometimes felt crushingly lonely, a feeling I often mask with a stoic strength - a façade cultivated from years of witnessing my father's own quiet resilience.

In Ghana, the role of a father is deeply intertwined with notions of provision, protection, and guidance. My father embodied this, and his absence left a palpable void. I admit now that sometimes, in the quiet of my own thoughts, the loneliness wells up. It's a profound solitude, different from simply being alone; it's the ache of a missing piece, a constant reminder of the conversations we won't share, the advice I will never receive in person. I have learned to hide it, to project an outward image of strength, but the undercurrent of vulnerability remains.

Yet, from the ashes of grief, a profound shift has emerged. The fragility of life, made stark by Kwame's death, has ignited a fervent desire within me to seize each day. I have embraced a philosophy of making the most of every moment, a silent tribute to the man who taught me the value of hard work, integrity and smartness. This urgency has, in turn, stirred a deep well of fatherliness within me. I find myself drawn to the idea of providing, of being a protector, even when it stretches my resources thin. Is it a toxic trait? I can't tell. I am often the first to offer help, financially or otherwise, to those in need, a tendency that sometimes clashes with my practical needs but I can't seem to resist. This impulse, almost instinctual, is a direct result of wanting to carry on the legacy of care I witnessed from my father.