As we rapidly approach the, unfathomable to me, one year “anniversary” of my Dad’s death, I feel no closer to “healing” than I did the day he died. In fact, I would venture to say, I feel further from it than I did that day. That day I rationalized the fact that he was no longer in pain, no longer suffering, no longer on this incredibly unfair journey, but in a better place. I was consumed with, What’s next? Is my Mom ok? Who do we need to call? What arrangements need to be made? 

Today…today, that’s all bullshit! Today, I want my Dad back. I want my life back. I want to not look around my house and be reminded that he’s gone, to the point that I don’t even want to be there. I want my husband to have his Father Figure back, his friend, his mentor. I want things to feel like they make sense.

This is not to say there have not been days that I have felt good, days that I have laughed and thought things were getting “better,” because I have. But not always, not today. Something is always missing. Something still feels empty. I guess this is my new normal. I guess one day this will feel better than it does today, but I’m just not there yet.