We met around the World Trade Center, and as I simultaneously sipped my coffee and ranted about our organizational challenges, she simply stared at me so intently. I was confident her response would be so comforting, in fact- welcoming. However, the words that followed rather impaled my light trance:
“What are you trying to prove?”
The train ride afterwards was obstructively contemplative. Was I indeed trying to prove something? I mean isn’t life about sacrifices that birth rewards? Pain that births sustained gains? Could it be that this belief had been a facade and that life was rather about settling for good enough?
Father passed away exactly 21 years ago today. One would assume I must have completely healed by now, but this thing called healing can be relative. You see, everyone deals with death differently, and triggers can indeed be so unforgiving. In my experience, I eventually grew numb to emotional pain, and subconsciously embodied the identity of a provider.
Father was a provider, and I so strongly wanted to be like him- the him I had always admired at a such a tender age. Every challenge I embarked on was in anticipation of getting a pat on the back. Each door that opened as a result of cracking the code was in hopes of bringing this game of “hide and seek” to a halt. The search always prolonged.
Over the years, I’ve come to accept that sometimes pain triumphs love at the start of the race. And when you are exposed to the worst, almost nothing can frighten you. Healing takes the back seat, and coping with the loss becomes the driving force for deriving at something meaningful. And as I reflect today, what I had been trying to prove was exactly what my father had once proven to me- God’s existence. As believers, we prove the existence of God when we are God’s point of contact in the lives of others, as my father had once been in mine.
I Love You, Fred Acheampong
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This message was originally shared on instagram here.