While most days are going ok, some days have major speed bumps that still catch my breath. I was crying to B the other night that it's not actually the "missing" that hurts, but the fear that the hurting will fade that hurts the most.
Everywhere I go, I'm still hit with little reminders, which I'm at equal turns thankful for and saddened by. It makes me wonder if I always thought about Dad this much-- if his presence was so ingrained in my very being that he'd often pop to mind when little thinks struck me. One thing's for sure, those "little things" are now popping front and center.
Reminders of Dad...
Roasted nuts. Twice this week, at the Braves' game and at the mall near one of those food gifts stores, Dad has surged into my mind simply from the scent of roasting nuts. Whenever Dad found a store that had them, he'd try the free sample, then get a little cone, then go back for another before we left.
Houses. B and I were "dream shopping" houses last night in a cute little neighborhood when I had the thought, "Those houses would be hard on Dad when he visited-- the steps are too shallow."
Father's Day. Ugh. Not in relation to anyone else's father, mind you. I'm thrilled to cook ribs and hang out with B's Dad this weekend. Somehow that feels totally separate from my thoughts of Dad.
Radio. Bluegrass, gospel, old country, and anything with a Banjo. I can almost hear him singing along.
When good things happen, I want to talk to him. After talking with Mom on her cell, I want to call him. I dread Friday, one month since he died. I can literally feel myself slowing, as if my refusal to complete Wednesday will slow Friday's arrival.
I told B that I'm so afraid of forgetting, so fearful that next month won't hurt as badly. I know these moments, now painful, should turn into comforting reminders, but I'm afraid things will fade. I never knew my grandfathers, and I don't know much about them now. Where does that leave my (unconceived, unborn) kids in relation to the great man that is my Dad?
I'm sad, and with that sadness comes the desire to simply hide. There's work to be done, forms to be completed, thank you notes to write, and life to continue, but for now, I want simply to disappear for a while.
A good friend, over lunch, told me that I'm lucky to have siblings because we'll remember Dad together and he'll live on that way. That's true, and I am thankful for them, and for Mom. Right now I'm just hurting, and protesting the arrival of Friday. Join me, won't you?