1 Year Later

Last week was the "anniversary".  I hate that word--anniversary is a happy word.  Last week marked 365 days since...the last time we saw each other...the last time we spoke...the last day you shared this earth with us....

I wasn't sure what to expect that day. I didn't know who I'd want to share the day with, what I'd want to do. Then I realized, I knew I didn't want to "mark" that day. I don't want to, year after year, punctuate November with the pain I felt that day, that week, that month last year. It does a disservice to the pain I felt the 364 days of the year that followed. It implies that the day I learned you were taken from me was more painful than each day after.

I'd be lying if I said it hasn't gotten any easier.  But that doesn't make it easy. It's not true to say that the pain is not less stabbing that it was in the days and weeks and first months after you were gone. But it doesn't mean it's not there. 

For me, it's not just the "firsts"...first Christmas without you, first birthday, first "anniversary", because I realize with Will, those "firsts" are just going to keep coming. Each time he learns a new word, grows and inch, tells a joke, starts school, rides a bike, gets married...each of those will be lived with a piece of my heart broken because you're not there to share it.  I know that this pain is something I have to learn to live with and that means finding a place for it to stay. I have to learn what that pain is going to be for me: is it going to be anger and injustice or is it going to be memory and peace that you can see it all, and be part of it all, even though I can't see it.

I'm working hard to give that pain it's proper place. I'm starting to be able to share memories of you without dissolving into tears. I'm starting to hear your voice and smile and not just break down.  I'm starting to make decisions that I think will make you proud, and not be afraid to make them at all because I can't ask your opinion first....

One year later, I think I'm finding my way through the fog. It's still there, but I feel like I may have a lantern in hand...and I know exactly where the light is coming from.

I love you Dad. I miss you as much as ever.
Ok? Ok. Ok, bye.