2017 lived inside Euclid like a shadow he could never shake. His father—his everything—was gone. Just like that, a sudden spike in his sugar levels took him away, leaving Euclid's world empty. He remembered the moment he heard the news as if it had happened yesterday. His chest tightened, his heart refused to beat normally, and for a few long seconds, he couldn't breathe. He wanted to scream, to call him back, to undo what had already happened—but reality was merciless. His father was gone, and nothing could bring him back.
The days after his father's death were unbearable. Euclid wandered around the house, touching things his father had touched, listening for sounds of his voice that would never come again. Every corner of the house was filled with memories, and yet it felt hollow. He remembered his father's laughter, the way he would guide him when he was lost, the way he had believed in him even when no one else did. All of it vanished in a heartbeat.
At first, he couldn't cry. He didn't know how. The numbness swallowed him whole. But later, alone in his room, staring at the ceiling, the tears came in waves he could not control. He realized that pain could exist so intensely that it seemed to have its own weight, pressing down on his chest, on his mind, on everything he was.
School became a battlefield he wasn't prepared for. Friends tried to reach out, but Euclid withdrew. How could anyone understand what it meant to lose someone who was his whole world? How could anyone know the emptiness that now lived inside him? He wanted to disappear, to escape into silence, because words and laughter felt meaningless.
He remembered walking through the streets of Pakpattan in the afternoons, lost in thought, replaying memories over and over. Every step reminded him of his father—his advice, his discipline, his love. The small arguments they had, which once seemed so trivial, now felt precious. He would have given anything for one more argument, one more conversation, one more moment together.
His mother tried to stay strong, but he could see the sorrow in her eyes. She carried her grief silently, trying to protect him, yet he knew she was breaking inside just as much as he was. The house felt empty, but not just physically—it felt like life itself had lost its color.
Euclid remembered moments from his past, before his father's death, when he had trusted people and been let down. Moments when friends betrayed him or left him disappointed. Those memories, mixed with the void left by his father, made him wary of anyone, even those who genuinely cared. He realized how fragile trust and love could be, how quickly life could shift and leave him alone with his thoughts.
Yet, even in the darkest days, small moments of light appeared. A friend sitting quietly beside him, someone offering comfort without words, a smile that reminded him life could still hold warmth. These small things didn't replace his father—they never could—but they reminded him that the world, though painful, still moved forward.
He began to understand something important: grief was not something one could escape. It was something to carry. It shaped him, molded him, and taught him lessons he didn't ask for but had to learn. He realized that even though his father was gone, his guidance remained inside him. His teachings, his love, his belief in him—they were a part of who he had become and who he could still be.
Walking past his father's favorite chair, seeing his shoes by the door, hearing his name spoken—all of these things pierced him, yet they also reminded him of the depth of what he had lost. He couldn't run from grief. He couldn't hide from it. He had to face it every day, and slowly, he learned to live with it.
Over time, Euclid began to notice that even when life takes everything from you, it also teaches resilience. Every memory of his father became a guidepost. Every lesson he had imparted became a map for navigating life without him. He realized that while nothing could ever replace his father, the love and values he gave him were still inside him, helping him carry on.
He started to see that life, even when broken, still held moments worth noticing. He didn't need grand gestures or happiness everywhere. Sometimes, a quiet afternoon, a friend sitting with him, a small act of kindness, was enough to remind him that life continued, even after the greatest loss.
And so he moved forward. Not easily, not without struggle, but forward nonetheless. Because though his father was gone, he lived in every decision Euclid made, every step he took, every breath he drew. The pain never fully disappeared, but he carried it like a part of himself—reminding him of who he was, where he came from, and the strength his father had instilled in him.
2017 changed everything. It taught him the fragility of life, the depth of love, and the weight of loss. But it also taught him resilience. It taught him that even when everything falls silent, even when the world shifts in ways he never expected, he could still walk forward. He could still honor those he had lost by living, by remembering, by carrying their lessons in his heart.
Even years later, Euclid still felt the emptiness, the longing, the ache of his father's absence. But he also felt the strength, the guidance, and the love he had left behind. And as he continued his journey, he knew that though life would never be the same without him, he could move forward carrying both grief and gratitude, pain and hope, memory and growth.
Because losing his father didn't take away his life. It gave him the weight of responsibility, the depth of understanding, and the chance to become the person his father had always believed he could be. And that was a lesson he carried with him every single day.