At the time of publishing this, at 10.17 it has been six months without my Father.
Father’s Day is coming up and it hurts me more than Christmas, and more than his birthday. It might be because the last week has been hard for my little family. We’ve had internal drama, drama involving money, and the decisions and actions of others has really taken a toll on me. Walking around in the mall on Sunday was one of the hardest days since the day he died. The mall is awash with earthy, manly colours, all the “celebrate dad with xyz gifts” and just other stuff related to the day and it felt like a knife to the chest.
I miss my dad. There is no doubt about that. There is no way to describe the longing, and the loneliness. There are still days when I pick up my phone, and want to call him, even if it’s to ask if gluten is actually a requirement in a roux because mine never works with gluten-free flour.
I always made a big deal out of Father’s Days. I would shower my dad with chocolates, and his favourite beer, and later on as my income grew, gadgets. My dad was a lover of many things, but his insatiable thirst for knowledge was probably his greatest love.
This is so hard to write. How do you sum up someone in one post? Even over a series of posts I wouldn’t be able to figure out where to start, what to talk about, what to say. It’s hard.
So many things have happened in the last six months without my Father. One of those things is making the decision to spend the rest of my life with Rickus (and his with me, considering how one-sided that sounded). It hurts knowing my Father won’t be there to walk me down the aisle, he wasn’t able to give his blessings, and he won’t be there to witness what is supposed to be the happiest day of my life. How does one reconcile the overwhelming sadness of not having that person present with the happiness of the day? How do you find a balance? How do you ignore the elephant in the room?
There is a hole in my life that the moon couldn’t fill, and there are days I don’t know which way is forward. The struggle of trying to bridge the gap between daily life and crippling sadness is somewhat endless. Most days it’s something I can handle, and control to the point of it not ruining my day, but some days it’s peanut butter out the jar for me.
I could write for hours about my Father, and I could write for days. Nothing I write will be worthy. No words can describe a man who made me a guitar from a Sta-soft bottle, or caught vomit in my hands when I was sick, who used to share his salted Lays with me even if he really wanted them. This is a man who tried to calm me down the day I rushed him to the hospital, because I was hysterical about the fact that he couldn’t breathe. My daddy was my hero, and there are no words to describe my life without him. There are no words to fill the hole in my life. There are no words for how much I miss my Daddy.
Hugs & sloppy daxie kisses