Famous First Lines

Just Breathe

In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since.

He told me to just breathe and let the rest come easy.

Of course when he told me this, I was only twelve, a young tomboy, with scratched knees, and dirt in her hair, and so naturally, I thought nothing of it in the moment.

But now his words echo hauntingly through my head. You see, my father has just recently passed, about a week ago and I’m still dealing and sorting through it all. He had terminal cancer, and so I knew it was coming, but it doesn’t make it any easier.

My whole life is was just me and my dad, my mom had died when I was very young and he never remarried, or showed any interest in it. He focused all of his energy into raising me and being the best father he knew how to be. We lived a quiet life, in a cottage on the lake, in the Northern parts of Maine, in a small town of about 300 folks. My father worked as a carpenter having built nearly all the furniture in our home, and he taught me how to play baseball with the boys, swim across the lake without a float, and swing from rope swings he had hung in the back yard.

We lived a simple life, but I was always content, and a true daddy’s girl. He was the smartest, strongest, bravest and most inspiring man I have met to this day. He was wise and had eyes full of stories, and wrinkles around his blue eyes, that revealed themselves whenever he smiled.

After high school, I went on to attend state college, leaving my father behind, and when I came home sophomore year for Christmas break he told me the news. He had just been diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor, and the doctor had given six months to live.

I lost him the following July, of that summer, and things haven’t been the same since. Friends and family attended the funeral, and to be honest, I didn’t cry much, I felt very numb. I had taken the rest of the semester off, once I found he was sick, even against his protests. We traveled to Europe, and visited the coast of Greece, somewhere he had always wanted to visit. We spent about a week in Santorini, and sipped on wine, and lied in the blue ocean. He was happy, but in a nostalgic way.

It’s now the middle of September, and I have finally sorted through most of my dad’s things. I donated some and kept what I could. I was leaving tomorrow morning, to go back to school, and finish my degree in physical therapy, like my father always dreamt I would. I had cleaned the house, from top to bottom, and now I sat on the couch we use to watch movies on, and sipped on his favorite beer.

Today was oddly warm, around seventy-five degrees, and bizarre for a September day. The water was still warm, and when I saw the beautiful sunset, I decided to become one with nature and go for a swim. I slipped into my bathing suit, grabbed a towel and headed down to the dock.

The earth was even warm beneath my feet. The sunset was vibrant colors of pink and orange. I dipped my toes into the lake and the water felt like a welcoming warm bubble bath. I tossed my towel aside, and sat down on the dock, and glided into the water. It surrounded me like a warm hug, and I dipped my head underneath, closing my eyes, and sinking to the bottom. When I came up for air, I lied on my back and stared up into the sky.

I felt myself beginning to cry, longing for my father’s company. The wind quietly brushed against the leaves still on the trees, and rustled them, as if they were responding to my tears. I took a deep breath, floating upon the surface, and reminded myself that my dad would want nothing but for me to be happy. In that very moment I swear I felt his presence, as if when I looked up he would be standing on the dock, smiling down at me. I was too afraid to look, and I just lied there for some time and thought to myself, “just breathe, and the rest will come easy.”