Today is the day. Four years. If my grief were a high school student, it would have received it’s diploma. For the past few weeks I’ve been trying to figure out how to put my thoughts into words. When my father’s illness progressed, I made the decision to chronicle my process and blogging my way through has been very healing.
Reflecting on my fourth year without my father has been bittersweet. There is a feeling of both guilt and relief when you get through another year feeling a little less worse than the year before. At different times over the past few years I’d wished I just never knew him, because through the fog of grief it seems like a less painful option than accepting the loss. Don’t get me wrong, it still gets me. The grief monster still lurks in the shadows. Oh.... sometimes it gets me BAD. Every time I see a father/daughter dance at a wedding or overhear a laugh or sound that reminds me of him, my heart breaks with a true and deep ache that I don’t think will ever go away. Four years later, I’ve learned to live with the ache.
I will be forever grateful that I had my dad for 26 years. He was one-of-a-kind and the best father I could have ever hoped for. He may have been the gambler, but when he and my mother adopted me and took my colic-y infant self home from the hospital I was the one that won the lottery. I’m forever a daddy’s girl. I still miss him so much- and that will never change.
I love you, pops.