Thanksgiving was lovely. And then my Dad died.
It still doesn't seem real...so maybe that's why I keep hearing my own voice in my head saying, "My Dad died." It's not my mom's voice telling me...like what actually happened. It's my own voice...repeating.
My Dad died.
It's like I need to remind myself that things have changed. That he's not here anymore.
My Dad died.
It's so different from losing the babies. It's definitely filled with more regret, anger, and...I don't know...unresolved feelings. I mean, my dad has always been there. He wasn't my most vocal cheerleader. He wasn't anyone's cheerleader. He didn't really use supportive words much. He wasn't warm and cuddly. In fact, I can count on one hand the number of times I can remember him saying "I love you." He wasn't open with his stories or life experiences. In fact, I think he subscribed to the belief that children should be seen and not heard…
You think I'd be good at this for all the saying goodbye and letting go I've had to do. But I read this and was reduced to sappy sentimental tears.
I miss my son. My living, breathing, 14-year-old, full of opinions, addicted to video games, first born who used to share everything with me. The Wiggles. Thomas the Tank Engine. Pokémon. Hating reading. School. Loving reading. His love of comfort over fashion. His inherited tendency to expect too much from everyone and everything. Ways to cope with his perceived shortcomings. His unshakeable faith in me. His growing belief that he knows everything.
Adolescence has now taken hold and he has become much less inclined to share. Given enough time, asking the right questions, I can usually wheedle information out of him. Tell me one thing you learned today. Tell me one thing interesting that happened today. How are your friends doing? What did you have for lunch? What happened in band today? Is there anything you need for school?