this was scheduled to post on father’s day, but obviously it didnt, so here it is now…

most people assume i have parents. plural. when in fact i only have one parent. mom. it’s fine, i can’t expect anyone to just know that my dad passed away when i was 16. grandparents perhaps many of you no longer have. but parents? most people’s parents are still around. but then again, we should never assume these things, right? right.

admittedly, since i had to undergo the complete shocking death experience (he passed away as unexpectedly as they come), i have a complete fascination with blogs that also muses, despairs, or simply and bluntly speaks on the topic of death and loss. i don’t often know exactly what it is their words give to me. all i know is that it speaks to me. i admire them for being able to talk about it. i admire them for sharing. it’s interesting to me that death can be such a bonding experience, especially for those who have gone through it, that it brings people who may otherwise be utter strangers to be coaxed into talking about something so personal, so painful, so heartbreaking.

i suppose we humans are in search of answers all the time. even more, we search for others to relate to us. but why strangers? why semi-anonymously? i honestly am more comfortable talking about death with strangers than i am with my own sister and mother. i know, it’s sad right? but it’s still true. and don’t think the knowledge of that doesn’t eat away at my guilty conscience all the time. i went to 3 therapy sessions 10 years after the passing of my dad. in one of those sessions, the therapist pointed out to me that i had lost my mother the same day my dad ceased to exist in his bodily form. i thought about what she said for a microsecond and could not help but agree with that statement. i guess we are never truly the same after experiencing the loss of a most beloved person.

in my heart of hearts, of course i’ll always have parents. plural. just because my father is no longer reading in his beatup old chair that my mother not so secretly wanted to take to the dump or writing the most beautiful calligraphy i have ever seen in his study doesnt mean that i only have a mom. i think of him every time i see bus 71 by my house, the one he took every single day to work and back home again. i see him in my sister and in myself whenever one of our stubborn streaks rise. i think of what he would most likely say when one of the dogs barfs on the carpet [insert expletives here].

just so you know, that old chair is now firmly ensconced in my bedroom where my own reading corner is… i doubt it’ll ever make it to the dump now. i dont believe in heaven and i certainly dont believe in hell. i know i’ll never see him again in either place. but that doesnt mean he will ever cease to exist as my father. i will forever be his daughter after all.

i don’t mean to be morbid, but it’s father’s day and i still want to say honor my dad on this day, in spirit at least. here, to strangers, in a semi-anonymous way. maybe it’s just too hard in person.

as for the heartache, the harder it aches, the more love there was? is? i choose is.