Dad And I Part 1
1993, the start of our healthy functioning relationship Dad and I go way back, obviously. After losing him pretty much unexpectedly in February, I can't stop thinking about him. I swear we had at least six months left with him. I know that is the quintessential part of grief, thinking of our lost loved ones. Grief is the mark of deep, complicated emotions and love. The emotional pain of grief is unbearable. At least it is for me. I'm in the stage where I'm not in bed playing sad songs and bawling my eyes out anymore. Or snapping at my husband, or being overwhelmed. His passing has taken root a bit, even though it hardly seems real. The best way to describe where I am now is practicing avoidance (which is interesting because I never handle life that way—I usually dive right in, but I think it hurts too much with my precious Dad, so I've been very tactical at avoiding it). I'm not listening to music in the car, I'm purposely not looking at photos and videos, and...
