The dewy grass tickled my legs as I gingerly placed my hands over my knees in front of the sunset; so serene, just like I remembered it. The beauty in my backyard seemed surreal, like a painting. The gleaming lake near the house reflected the effervescent colors of the setting sun. Clouds swarmed the vast skies and concealed the sun as it sank below the waters. Despite the moment's tranquility, guilt overcame me. After many months of avoiding this pleasure, Dad and I enjoyed daily,  I was urged to view the sunset today. It formed a void within that I hoped to fill. 

Nothing mattered to me more than the memories Dad and I crafted. Growing up, it seemed insignificant to sit out here with him, but I would give up anything to do it now. Anything to hear his soft voice talk about the flowers and birds or how much he loved our time together. I recalled that fateful night when my mom revealed the news about Dad a few months ago. 

Holding the phone in her hand, her lip had quivered as she listened intently to the muffled voice that broke the deafening silence in the room. Her mouth gaped open, her eyebrows creased in the middle of her forehead, and her hand trembled profusely. She dropped the phone from her ear like an unbearable weight, distraught.

“H-He’s gone,” her unsteady voice stammered, her hand still held up to her ear.

“Who? Gone where?” I asked weakly. 

“Your father,” she finished, her eyes glistening as a hot tear dribbling down her cheek led to a stream. Her heavy sobs filled the kitchen as she cupped her face into the palm of her hands. 

Before I knew it, tears were streaming down my own face. My heart skipped a beat, but only the constant thump filled the deathly silence. Paralyzed amid everything crumbling around me, I was lost for words, even thoughts. Dad was so gentle and forgiving. How could something so terrible happen to him? I didn’t care about any of the details because he was no more. I didn’t want him to fade away like a distant memory. I wasn’t going to let him. 

The immediate effects of not seeing him every day hit hard and performing daily tasks was difficult for me. I lost my appetite and stopped my hobbies and passions. My grades dropped because of my lack of focus, and school became a waste of time. I needed hope that I still had a piece of him. Tilting my head down, my hands brushed the blades of grass on the lawn, and my eyes landed on the rows of flowers blooming in the garden. It reminded me of a special moment with Dad. 

I had caressed the delicate petals between my two fingers, soft and dewy from the rain the night before. Dad glanced at the flower I held, immediately recognizing it.

“Hemerocallis or pink daylily, your mom’s favorite.” That was all he said before pushing his thick-rimmed glasses higher on his nose and turning back to admire the sunset.

The knowledge he possessed, one of his features that stood out, showed up in every little thing he said. Our conversations were never colorless, as Dad had a way of enlightening every dull moment. Some days we talked incessantly; even short five-minute exchanges held so much significance. 

“Mom insisted we have at least a row in our garden. But my favorite, oh, are they beautiful!” he remarked, his voice steadily growing more thrilled as he spoke. He gestured at the purple irises lined right behind the daylilies. 

“Just so striking and elegant, like what they represent, the goddess, Iris. That’s why I named you that,” he continued, his calm blue eyes gleaming at mine. 

I gazed at the captivating purple flower, petals emerging in every direction. Vein-like lines were etched throughout the surface and sitting right in the middle of each was a striking yellow circle, like the sun. 

After hearing the call of a bird I questioned, “What type of bird is that?” pointing to the dainty fledgling in its nest. 

After little thought, he answered, “Judging by the pointed wings and long tail, a nightjar.” 

Nodding, I gazed at the nightjar’s beady eyes and grey-tipped beak as it hopped carefully across the grass and finally flapped its wings to soar blissfully into the sky. It seemed to be a solitary bird, hunting for its prey alone that evening. Its wings, stretched out and splashed with brown and white detailing, were truly beautiful as the bird flew through the skies. I turned to look at Dad flashing his captivating smile, and I couldn’t help but do the same. He had a way of doing that like he knew I was thinking about the nightjar. 

The melodious chirping of a nightjar this night snapped me out of my thoughts. I looked to see the sun, no longer visible behind the lake, highlighting the colors across the sky. It represented Dad and me. I was the colors, he was the sun, invisible, but not forgotten. The sun was still there, even if I couldn’t see it, just like Dad. Like me, the colors continued to dance across the sky, even if the most striking aspect that made it beautiful was no longer present. He made these memories so colorful that they were forever etched in my mind. He was gone, but not in spirit, especially out here. He stayed with me in everything I did. He was guiding me to color my life just like the sunset, emerging day after day. 

As the night sky with twinkling stars eventually replaced the sunset, I lifted my head. I whispered, “Hey, Dad, I miss you. I know it’s been a few months, but everything reminds me of you: the empty chair at dinner, driving past your favorite restaurant. I love you.” I thought about how he wouldn’t watch me grow up or take me down the aisle. He wouldn’t be there for my sports matches, high school graduation, or college visits. I longed to have him back, but there was nothing I could do. I missed his thick-rimmed glasses perched in the middle of his face, his deep voice rambling about nature, and the calm blue eyes that he and I shared. I wasn’t going to cry; he wouldn’t want me to. 

Like the nightjar soaring through the sky and the thriving iris, I had to fly above the hardship I was facing and continue blooming. He would have insisted that I live my life to the fullest without him.