This time of year is always hard for me.
Dad has been dead for three years. Today is Father's Day. June 30 was his birthday. He died on July 27. So, for me, Father's Day starts a period where I try not to think about my dad or tell myself that it's been three years so it shouldn't hurt anymore. Or I go the other way and wonder why I was such a pain in my dad's ass. Or why he was such a pain in mine. Or I think about how much I'd like to talk to him on the phone. Or how much I would like to sit on the back porch with him, drinking one of those god-awful Busch Lights.
But mainly I wonder if I'll ever stop missing him.
2 comments:
I think it would be a pity if you did.
It's one of those things where I tell myself that it's been three years, I need to get over it. But then I remind myself that grief is life-long, you just learn how to live with it.
Thing is, it feels like it was an entire lifetime ago. Yet, some moments feel like they just happened: my last conversation with him (which was at Murff's at 11:00pm on a Friday night), the last time I saw him (sitting in the garage with him, my brother, and stepmom going through a box of my stuff he found in my old bedroom), my brother's phone call, etc.
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