Before the words begin…
let me place you in the room.
Not the dream,
but the ache that made the dream possible.
Because grief doesn’t start when someone leaves.
It starts in the quiet moments after
when the world keeps moving
and yours… doesn’t quite know how to.
It’s in the empty spaces
where a voice used to live.
In the reflex to call them
and the reality that answers instead.
It’s learning how to carry love
with nowhere to place it physically.
Learning how to stand
while a part of you is still sitting
in the last moment you saw them.
My father transitioned
and in that moment
I was introduced to a different kind of silence.
Not the peaceful kind.
The kind that echoes.
The kind that teaches you
just how loud someone’s presence really was
by how heavy their absence becomes.
And yet…
in the middle of that absence,
something unexpected started happening.
He didn’t disappear.
He… shifted.
Into energy I could feel
but not touch.
Into moments I couldn’t explain
but couldn’t deny.
Into dreams
that felt more real
than waking life.
So before I tell you what happened that night
before I take you into that auditorium,
into that embrace…
Understand this:
This is not just a story about loss.
This is a story about
what happens when love
refuses to end.
“Earthbound Still” — Spoken Word
The music had already ended…
but something in me knew
the real performance was about to begin.
See…
the crowd was thinning,
lights dimming like tired eyelids,
and I was walking toward an exit
that didn’t feel like everyone else’s.
Isn’t that how grief works?
You leave through doors no one else notices.
I remember thinking
why did I park so far away?
Why does healing always feel like
a longer walk than expected?
And then…
before I saw him
I felt him.
Not memory.
Not imagination.
Not longing dressed up as hope.
No…
I felt presence.
The kind that wraps around your spine
before it reaches your eyes.
The kind that says
turn around… love is still here.
And there he was…
Sitting in the upper part of the auditorium
like he never left…
like he had just been waiting
for the crowd to clear
so we could finally have the room to ourselves.
And I didn’t walk…
I ran.
Because when love calls you back from the invisible,
you don’t question it…
you answer.
I grabbed him
like time owed me something.
Like February 19th had made a mistake
and I was here to correct it.
And we held each other…
God…
we held each other like
two souls stitching a tear in the universe.
No words.
Just trembling truth.
My tears spoke first…
because grief is fluent in water.
“I’m so glad you’re earthbound with me…”
I remember saying that…
but even as the words left my mouth
I realized…
He didn’t need them.
Because his silence…
was louder than any language I had left.
See,
his presence held me…
like a message that didn’t need a microphone,
like a prayer that refused to be spoken
and chose instead
to be felt.
And in that embrace…
everything I thought I needed to say
fell away.
No apologies.
No updates.
No “I wish you could see me now.”
Because somehow…
he already did.
He was… radiant.
Dressed in burgundy…
not just a color
but a declaration.
Like royalty had found him
on the other side of breath.
Shoes polished like purpose,
presence sharp like peace…
And that black mask…
I smiled through tears because
of course…
Even in eternity
he was still protecting himself.
Still him.
Still careful.
Still thoughtful.
Still showing me that love doesn’t die…
it just adapts.
And in that moment
I understood something that shattered me
and rebuilt me at the same time:
He didn’t come back for conversation.
He came back for confirmation.
That I am not abandoned…
I am accompanied.
That death didn’t take him…
it freed him into a form
my spirit could finally recognize without distraction.
That everything he was trying to teach me
when he had a body…
I am now being forced to embody.
Self mastery didn’t come to me
through books or routines or discipline alone…
It came through loss
that refused to let me stay small.
Through a love so profound
it demanded I evolve
just to hold it.
Because how do you carry someone
who is no longer physical?
You become expansive.
You become still enough
to hear what isn’t said.
Strong enough
to stand without being held…
and soft enough
to still feel held anyway.
My father…
didn’t leave me.
He refined me.
He turned my grief
into a mirror
and said…
“Look…
this is what you’re made of.”
And now I walk differently.
Not because I’ve “moved on”…
but because I’ve merged forward.
With him in my breath.
In my decisions.
In the quiet knowing
that I am never navigating this life alone.
Because I have felt
what most people pray to feel…
An embrace
from beyond the visible.
A love
that doesn’t require proof.
A presence
that speaks in volumes
without ever saying a word.
So if you ask me
where my father is…
I will not point to the sky.
I will place my hand on my chest
and say..
“He’s still… earthbound with me.”
~ Nakedia Owens 👑
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