20 Days Without My Dad
by BarquitosParaNadie · 28 October 2026 · Biography & Memoir
Twenty days after her father's death, the author sits in an airport on her way to a medical conference and is overwhelmed by grief amid the normalcy of strangers going about their lives. She keeps sending WhatsApp messages and voice notes to her father's phone, knowing he will never read or hear them, driven by an uncontrollable need for connection. The text is a raw, unfiltered portrait of early grief, disorientation, and the unbearable absence of a parent's unconditional love.
Today, Wednesday, October 28th, I'm at the airport heading to Medellín for an Aesthetic Medicine conference, with everything paid for… hotel, tickets, transfers, everything. I know my dad would have been so happy to know I have this opportunity. I was even going to write that he would be proud of me for that, but the truth is that my dad was proud of me for so much more than being chosen to receive something like this. My dad loved me so, so much, that I know he was proud of who I was and not of what I got.
The truth is that at this point, I feel an endless knot in my throat. How is it that I'm sitting here with people all around me, going about their lives, while I try to go on with mine feeling a hole in my chest, wanting to sit down on the floor and cry like a little girl. I feel calm because I tried to do everything I could for my dad, but his absence hurts me so much. I have no one to call every day to ask me how work went, even though I always answered that it went fine. No one to ask me every day how ñoño was doing, because the day I found out he had died, Maxi was already getting better and I never got to tell him. I know that would have made him so happy too — he loved my babies so much.
And I know I have Santi, but right now I feel like a lost little girl who doesn't have her dad to hold her hand and sort her life out. I know I can sort it out on my own, but it was better when I knew I had him there in case I needed something grown-up that I didn't know how to handle. At this point, I see myself from the outside and I feel a little sorry for myself, a little sad — how is it that I'm so alone and lost while everyone around me functions as if nothing is wrong. I'm going to board that flight, and he's not there for me to tell him when I'm getting on the plane, or to text him: "Taking off, dad, your blessing please."
Damn, and the thing is I've spent the last few days texting his WhatsApp, knowing full well I'm not going to get a response and that he's not even reading them, especially since I'm the one who has his phone. I don't even know what I'm trying to do with that, because on top of everything, sitting here at the airport, I sent him a voice message telling him I love him and I miss him, telling him about this trip I'm making, and saying again, one more time, that I miss him so, so much.
It's just that when I think about him I say "I mean, yeah, he's gone now," but when his little face comes to mind, I feel something like a flame burning in my throat and an urge to cry without stopping, because I can't believe I'm never going to see him again. How is it that from now on I'm going to miss out on seeing him and hearing him whenever I want — I always saw him as so fragile, but I never imagined he would die so soon.
I know he can't hear me, can't see me, can't look after me, because he's not in heaven, but he's not in hell either. He's not suffering. He simply stopped existing, because he's in a deep sleep. And I think I'm writing this more for myself than for him — I'm writing it to let it out and ease a little of this knot in my throat that gnaws at me every day. I'm already an expert at answering that I'm fine and faking the most hollow smile.
I love you so much, daddy. There is no one like you in this world.
Read in the app, leave a resonance, discover more stories.