Has it only been three years?
Has it already been three years?
So much has happened that it has to have been that long since the last time he was with us, since the morning we spent around his bed, holding his hand, waiting, watching. So much that it must have been that long or longer even.
In some ways it seems like decades have passed.
In others, it seems like he was just here.
This is the first time that this day has arrived when my mind hasn't been occupied somewhere else, worrying about her, my mother, nervously wondering how she would cope with it all this time around. The first time without the phone calls and messages left and awkward exchanges and wondering if she really was okay and her never being even a little bit concerned about me and her minimizing whatever I was feeling because she always felt more, hurt more, needed more.
This is the first time that I can grieve for me.
Without the distractions.
Without being worried about someone else.
Without being told that my grief wasn't big enough.
It's calming, actually, this place that I am in now.
It still hurts, but the edges of the pain are dulled a bit. The memories come now and they wash over me and leave me with a smile on my face rather than the heartache they used to leave behind.
I have learned a lot on this journey through life without him. He taught me so many lessons, some of which I did not even realize at the time. Some of them are still coming back to me now, all these years later, like the one about spilling the milk.
He taught me to be strong, to be resilient. He taught me to speak my mind, to lay out my arguments so well that people couldn't find the holes in them. He taught me to love music, to love the time I spend behind the wheel in the car, to love with my whole heart. He was the first to call me a writer, and I know he'd be prouder of me right now than anyone else could ever be.
I miss him. I miss him every day.
As I begin a new journey in my life, a familiar one, but one that I'm embarking on this time without him, my heart aches.
It hurts for all the things he won't be here to see, for all the moments without him. It hurts for the times he won't share with us.
Then a part of me knows that he is still with us.
He lets me know from time to time.
I have a feeling I'll be seeing a lot of him in the coming years.
I will welcome those moments. I will drink them in when they come. I will let the memories in, I will learn the lessons, I will be grateful for the chance to have been his little girl.
I miss you, Dad.
I love you.
Some of My Most Popular Posts
I feel like I've already written about this giraffe, and I know for certain that I have been periodically checking in on her for about a...
My husband stayed home from work yesterday. Over the weekend, he'd fallen up in the mountains, going and hurting himself in the process....
Philip Seymour Hoffman died yesterday. He was found with a needle still wedged into his arm, heroin believed to be the culprit. When I h...
The past week has been a difficult one for me and for so many of the people I love. I won't go rehashing what happened, mostly because i...
The following is a post I wrote on Saturday morning. I was sitting in a college classroom on the other side of the state, there for Science...
The internet is quite literally full of articles about the right way and the wrong way to be a feminist right now, especially after this wee...
My one year old has recently developed fairly severe eczema, maybe even worse than his older sister had at his age. This is the worst part o...
Not really, of course. He's been dead over three years now. He was there though, on Friday, in the unlikeliest of places. Mi...
I wrote a post on Facebook yesterday, lamenting the fact that one of the theories I'd held fast to throughout my tenure as a parent was ...
I was standing in the hallway tonight, urging my toddler to fall asleep in his bed, awaiting his recurrent footsteps towards doorway when so...