Life....

Last November, after three short weeks, my father passed away. He had a stroke, after a regulatory surgery. Diabetes ...killed him.

Months later, I still haven't really gotten through it. I have been invited back to graduate school (on conditional acceptance again), I have gotten a great job, lost it, and have moved out of my mother's house and into one of my best friend's houses. I believe that a lot of my struggle has happened because of my father, and my struggle in living without him.

Of course, they say you're never without the ones you lose, regardless of whether or not there is a heaven, you see the person in yourself through your personality and such, which is true. The truth, however, is that I can't really talk to myself, the way I talk to my father. I can't argue with myself, the way I did with my dad. I can't hug myself, I can't do all those things and more.

I feel like something in me, died along with him, that I can never get back. There's a permanent hole in my heart that I can't seem to fill.

About the only thing I can think of that has happened in the last month or so that I can really feel good about, is that I have found support in my friends, as well as the boyfriend I have most recently started dating. He's definitely someone I can call a special part of my life. I only hope, he lasts longer than the last few have. I honestly can say I am a little scared of this relationship, because I haven't been a publicly known "girlfriend" (yeah never mind what that means if you don't understand completely) in over a year, and I haven't been one in this fashion in about three years, so I have almost forgotten what it's like to even think of someone else on a daily, or even weekly basis. Then again, he seems very confident that I will make him happy, and thus far, he's made me very happy as well.

I think, my biggest fear, is that the depression obtained from my father's death, will keep affecting my relationships with people around me. I have usually been able to handle this in the past, but it's different when the deceased is a parent. It's something that someone in their early 20's should not yet experience. It's something that is not expected before a woman is married, before she has children. I have great jealousy towards my sister, because she has the memories of my father walking her down the aisle, holding her children, and being a grandfather to them. MY children, if they look anything like me, will also look like my father. I will not get to see the look on his face, when holding his grandchild, that strangely resembles him. I will not be able to experience the famous father/daughter dance, that I had dreamed of as a little girl.

I feel like I wasted a lot of time, worrying about that day when I was 11. I wasted time not forgiving him and moving on, being mad at him. I wasted time, waiting until I was an adult to understand his perspective. I wasted time, not telling him how I felt, even when he asked for forgiveness. By the time I told him the truth of my fears, it was just two days later that he had the stroke. Thinking about it makes me cry, even today. I don't get this way a lot, it used to be daily. Just after the funeral, it seemed like there wasn't a day that went by where I wasn't thinking of him, crying over him, mourning his death, grieving my loss. Now, I can go weeks without really feeling like I am depressed. The problem, is that when this feeling comes into action, I can't really stop it. Nothing really seems to bring it on, beyond...memories.

I still hear his voice very crisp in my mind. For awhile, shortly after the funeral, I even felt like I was seeing him. I would think he's there in my dreams, and have to double take people when I was awake. I felt very...not normal.

Now, whenever I hear Beethoven, I cry...whenever I think of politics, part of me aches inside, as much as I still love it. Whenever I argue politics with my "extreme" friends (libertarians) I feel a slight queasiness in my stomach, from the pain of losing my father.

I wake up everyday, and look in the mirror. I stare at the 3/4ths of my face that is my father. If I look too long, I start to see the old man in the hospital bed, the one I saw every day for three weeks, the one that would keep putting up the big fight, and the one that eventually I found myself crying on that early morning of November 12th, 2008.

I miss him, and I am really not sure how to handle this, when to handle this, who to handle this with, or when I can stop handling this. I wish there was more I could say, more I could do....

Dad...I miss you...