A Final Farewell: Help Me Find Peace for My Dad

My dad’s name is Konko Essandoh. Just last month, after three agonizing weeks in the hospital, he was released. We held onto hope, thinking maybe this time he'd finally be okay. He’d always had his ups and downs with his health, so we clung to the thought that we’d get through it like we always did. But only a day later, out of nowhere, our world fell apart—he was gone.

My dad was my guiding light, my anchor. He had this carefree spirit that made the world feel less heavy. He would take me on these little adventures, where time seemed to pause, and he taught me how to believe that life would always find a way. But now, that spirit is just a memory, a distant echo of laughter that once filled the room. The silence he left behind is deafening, a constant reminder that I will never hear his voice again.

It’s been three long years since I last saw him, and our final conversation—just four months ago—feels like a lifetime away. I replay that last phone call in my mind, clinging to every word, wishing I’d known it was our last chance. I never imagined that I'd have to say goodbye this way, without even a chance to hold his hand one last time, to tell him how much he meant to me.

Now it's just me and my mom, trying to pick up the pieces. We live paycheck to paycheck, with the weight of this grief bearing down on us. Every day feels like a struggle, and the future is so uncertain. Any bit of support would mean more than words can express—it would be a lifeline in this sea of loss.