The truth is, sometimes I’m so mad at him. How DARE he just up and die on me, his DAUGHTER. His only daughter. Don’t I get a say in this? Don’t I get the opportunity to put my hand up to the world and say: “NO! I’m not doing this right now. I’m too young to lose my father so just fuck off and we’ll talk again in thirty years!”. Thirty years is how much longer I should have had my father for. Thirty more FUCKING years but all I got was a grand total of twenty-five. Well fuck the universe and fuck him for putting up the white flag.
*Insert heavy sigh here.*
It comes in flashes. The anger, the sadness, the recognition that he’s even gone. Most days I live my life just like always, completely normal. I almost forget he’s gone at all, and then it sneaks up on a Friday night out of nowhere and it’s all I can do to keep it together. It’s exactly how I knew it would be, I’m no stranger to grief. Ahh yes, I’ve been here before, so many times.
Over the past three years I’ve written a lot about how much I miss my Grandmother, and how I’ve had this constant thought that I don’t know how I’m going to live the rest of my life without her. It seems so surreal to have lost a key piece of my life so young, like a part of my identity is missing and I’m forever fragmented. He lost his mother, his best friend. He was so dependant on her. I’d often wondered, “If I can’t imagine my life without her, how could he?”, but I didn’t know… because he never talked about it. In fact, Dad never let on at all how he felt about losing Gram. So unusual for a man who wore his heart on his sleeve…and so now I wonder. If my heart is broke then his must have been shattered, and how can a person live like that? Maybe you can’t. Maybe you can’t live like that at all… and I want to be mad at him for that too. I want to scream at him for not fighting for everything else he still had to live for, fight for your life, fight for your sons, fight for ME! But I can’t be angry at him for not knowing how to live without her. I don’t know how to live without either of them.
But this right here is the difference between my father and I: I’m going to keep on fucking trying.