Yeah. I know. It's been awhile.
I SWEAR I've been doing much more than feeling sorry for myself. But, seeing as how it's an anniversary and all, I have to do the obligatory post. Give me a week and I'll post other links to what I've been doing. Promise.
(Also, apparently, I have forgotten how to embed links. HRMPH!)
It has been 6 years.
6 years that have gone past in a blink of an eye.
6 years that have lasted a lifetime.
5 years, and 359 days ago, you passed. (Or, as the family jokes, Nana killed you as part of her master plan.)
But it was 6 years ago that I found you.
And I still feel fucking guilty for leaving you alone.
I guess what I'm trying to say is this -
It's been 6 years.
6 fucking years.
6 years since I re-opened that painful scar that I thought was healed over, after Mom left us.
6 years of re-depression (after working so hard to getting closer to fine. And actually, ACTUALLY, being fine.)
6 years of wondering, "What the fuck?!"
6 years of acting that everything was okay.
6 years of fake-smiling.
6 years of brushing everything off.
6 years of saying, "Yes, I am hurt. But no, no. No! REALLY. It's okay. I'M okay."
6 years of pretending.
I miss you as much today as I did then.
But at least, for the most part anyways, the immediacy is gone.
The raw hurt is now just a dull throb.
It's just something that I live with, yanno?
But I think that, for you, the immediacy never left. Not once Mom was gone.
I think that, for you, the raw hurt never dulled.
And I think that, for now, for the first time ever, I understand.
I really understand.
I really understand your grief.
Now? Now I really get that Mom was your only woman.
Don't get me wrong Pops. I know - down to my marrow, my heart, and my soul - that I was your baby girl.
Shortly before you died, you started opening up to me. And I to you. I thought we would have a few more years, at least.
But we didn't.
I remember stealing the mixed tapes you made. (It was my secret way of tapping into your life.) And for the longest time I thought that this song, which you put on all of your tapes, was for Mom. It wasn't until later, much later, that I realized it was for me.
And the first time I realized that? I cried like a fucking baby.
So then, as now, I know that you thought I was lovely (even though at times - most of the time - you wanted to kill me.)
I just hope you knew that I thought the same of you.
It's been 6 years.
I've never liked the number 6.
(I may be putting myself out on a ledge, but? I really fucking miss you. And I love you, Dad. I just wish I had the balls to say it to you out loud, while you were still alive.)