Mantra

My dad died a year ago today. Before I start talking about it, I'd like to say that I don't really want to talk about it. HEH.

Seriously, I've spent the last couple of weeks in a funk because I knew today was coming. I remember how we spent these weeks a year ago and frankly, it sucked. A year ago today, we spent the day telling him to let go and he finally did. Was it a good day? No, not particularly. But it was better than watching him suffer.

But here's the deal. Let's say you walk into work with a broken arm and in addition to every-goddamn-body asking "Hey, what happened to you??" they all grab your arm and give it a good solid yank. By the end of the day, you'd not only be pretty fucking tired of telling the story, you'd probably be finding a way to avoid people, wouldn't you?? Even the folks that you knew were asking out of concern.

That's kind of how it feels when I anticipate conversations about my dad. I just kind of don't want to be around anybody right now. I stayed home yesterday, justifying it with a comp day (I worked all day Saturday) and a 4-day headache (fucking mold). Fortunately, despite my very best efforts I am not the center of my co-worker's lives (I know! I was shocked when I found that out!!) so the chances of one of them walking up to me, all sympathetic and "It's been a year, hasn't it, how aaare yoooouuu???" Pretty damn slim. Thank Jeebus.

Anyway, the thing is, the only people who'll really remember and think to say anything are my mom, who's probably reading right now (hi mom!) and who knows that it's best to let me bring stuff up in my own time, my grandmother, who has already mentioned she's thinking about me (us) in email and my dad's side of the family and well, I'll call them tonight, because I need to anyway.

So yeah. I don't want to talk about.

I miss him every single day.