“He was the only friend I had. If I lost him, I might as well give up on life.”
When your father dies and you are only sixteen, many things change. School life changes. You are now the boy whose father is missing. People feel sorry for you, but they also devalue you, even resent you—for what, you’re not sure. The air around you becomes different. Once, the air contained you fully. But now an opening’s been cut, which feels frightening, yet not so frightening.And there is your mother and her loss to fill—at least, to step into—while you manage all your own sensations, and others. Fear. Opportunity. And always there is the fact of your father, whom you loved but whose life has become only about its end—much of the rest quickly fading. So. You are alone in a way that is so many-sided. There is not a word for it. Attempts to find the word leave you confused, though that confusion is not altogether unwanted or unliked.