Friday, February 23, 2018

Dear Dad...

365 Days.

I typed one set of numbers and one word, and now I just sit here watching the cursor blink on the screen. It's almost mesmerizing.

What do you say? And when do you stop feeling like you need to say something? When do you stop feeling like you're saying too much? When do you stop feeling like you tell the same stories over and over and over again?

When do you feel like you can finally let go and be okay with it?

Is it okay to let go and be okay with it?

I don't have these answers, and it would seem as though others seem to have the same standard answers. You know the ones I'm talking about, right?

  • He's always with you
  • He can hear you
  • He would be proud
Maybe you would, maybe you wouldn't. It's never possible to predict what any one person would say or feel about the things you're doing or the way you live your life. I can't make that prediction. I can only guess what you might say or think about certain situations.

Truth is, not much has changed in these 365 glorious days. I mean, I guess with me. You were gone, and in the blink of an eye, time stopped. And everything just hung in the balance. Thrown into slow motion, like in the movies where you're standing in a room and everything moves around you all distorted. Then someone hit the remote, and life was thrust into fast forward. And there was me, standing in the same room, watching the same people move from slow to fast. I went from seeing nothing, to seeing everything. I went from standing in that very same room, saying just standing there, screaming my lungs out...and no one could hear me. I guess those are the motions of grief though. And the motions are personal, and they're angering, and they're terrifying, and they're lonely.

The vision that is stuck in my head is like a movie of February 20, 2017-February 25, 2017. And I won't go into the details of that movie here. But my brain is set on repeat, and I just see you looking at me like you want to say something...but you can't. And it literally breaks my heart into pieces.

Maybe someday those memories will fade...and the good ones will return.

I don't know why I decided to write you a letter in the form of a blog. I suppose I just didn't know what else to say. What I do want to do, is tell you about all of the good things that have happened since you've been gone:

  • Babies have been born
  • People have gotten married 
  • People have moved on and found happiness in new states
  • New opportunities have come to those that have least expected it 
  • People have been able to better themselves 
  • Good music continues to come out 
  • Travels have occurred and are still in the works 
  • Oh, and I got the courage up to ask for an office...and I'm getting one...and it's pretty legit
 And it hasn't stopped. The sun keeps shining, the world keeps turning, and there's still beauty to see. I think, at the end of the day, that's all you want. Shit happens, and sure, sometimes we feel stuck, but you know what? That's life. We're all going to keep on living, and with a little shine. Because after all, what else should we do?

I want you to know that I've been both happy and sad. I've been lonely, but also full of love. I've often hidden my grief from the world, or tried to at least, because I feel like it's such an intensely private thing. I've forced smiles sometimes, and have tried to hide tears...because I just don't want people to see that part of me all of the time.

You and I had many talks about life. And recently I read a very thought provoking question:

If you died tomorrow, would you be satisfied? Would you be happy with what you have done?

I think, my answer would be 'No'.

If we were having this conversation you would say:

D: Why do you say that?
A: Because there's so much I should have done or should be doing by now.
D: Why do you think that?
A: Because it seems like the right progression of things that should happen in one's life
D: What's stopping you?
A: Me. I'm afraid. So I focus all of my energy into other things.
D:  Then I guess you know what you need to do then, don't you?
A: Yes.
D: You do what you need to do. 

I know what I need to do. I don't know how exactly I'm going to get there. But I want you to know I'll get there someday. No matter what I have to do.

Even though I act tough, I want you to know that I do wonder if you're proud of me. There are times when I do something, and I know it to be true. There are other times, when I just wish I had the validation. But I guess, deep down inside, I don't need it. I love you every day, a thousand times over. Always. And I'll keep doing my best to roll along...because in the words of our good friend:

"After all, it's what we've done that makes us what we are."
                                                                                                -Jim Croce

Love Always,


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