I had a dream a few nights ago about my dad. I just remember him standing 'there' and I can't even remember where 'there' was. I wish I would have wrote it down the minute I woke up, but I didn't and now I have lost the memory.
He has been on my mind a lot, always never far from me.
This week I talked aloud about his death to my new friends at Augie's speech class and even though I felt a lump, I didn't tear up. I consider this a victory and a turning point in my evolution through this grief.
I feel like I am starting to lose him and now want to write all the little details about him before they become lost.
I miss his bear hugs and hearty greetings.
I miss him calling me Az.
I miss him playing card games with me.
I miss him making me iceberg lettuce salads with ranch dressing, crushed saltines, tomatoes, and cheddar cheese.
I miss his eager enthusiasm towards animals and rafting and his garden.
What an absolute tragedy losing him has been for me. His death has made me stronger and more appreciative of family and friends. But it has also damaged me. Aged me. Saddened me. My father's death has made me more worried and desperate that I will be given another loss before I have healed. I imagine a world with him in it and realize that I will never come close to living that life again. I am not welcome at his home, I am not a part of his extended family. My children will never receive gifts from his garden or be taken down the river on a river rafting trip. They will never golf with him or be spoiled by him like he spoiled Kate--trips to time shares and swimming in a hot spring, trip to Disneyland, gifted expensive toys that we couldn't afford like a Harry Potter Lego set or remote controlled cars.
My loss is deep and now an undercurrent of who I am.
