I don’t know what to write, except that I feel like I need to say something.
Tomorrow will be 2 years since my dad died. It doesn’t get easier. There are days where I can laugh at stories about him, and days when I catch a glimpse of his picture and it can reduce me to tears. I never know which is going to happen, all I can do is deal with what comes.
I wonder what he’d think about the choices I’ve made in these last 2 years. If he’d shake his head and “tut” at me, or if he’d cheer me on like he did his beloved leafs in a late night game. The realistic part of me knows that my dad isn’t in pain any more. That he suffered so much in this life, that he’s in such a better place. The other part of me shakes my fists and wants to scream “It’s not fair!” There was so much of my life that I didn’t get to share with him.
I wonder what he’d say about our center being shut down, knowing he went through something very similar. Or what he’d say about the job we have now, being able to focus on the men, just like he loved to do. I know that my dad loved every one of the 20+ years he spent in the addiction field, but I’m sure his last few years as chaplain were some of his favorite, being able to focus on the men and not worry about the administrative side.
How excited would he be about our adopting “The Princess”? How would he feel about us naming her after his mom? I never met my dad’s mom, but the stories I’ve heard about her are hilarious. I’m sad that she didn’t get a chance to meet him either.
it’s just a strange day today.. and tomorrow will probably be just as strange.
I miss my dad.