Six Months Out

It's been a little over six months since my dad died. Do you know what is the hardest thing? Six months ago, when he first died, I wasn't sure what it would be, I wasn't sure I would be out of bed yet. I was talking to my sister-in -law and she said she just couldn't imagine how she would deal with it and I said "You just do" and we are. Right now, six months out, I really miss our everyday phone calls about absolutely nothing.

When my dad first died, well actually, when he first got sick, much of the emotional support that he provided was quickly picked up by friends and family. He was my biggest cheerleader, my rock, and my sounding board but very quickly, other people filled in those spaces almost seamlessly. Those people were always there but perhaps I just let them in more than ever before.

But the steady stream of articles, voicemail, and emails has stopped completely and I can't count the number of times I've been excited about something and thought to myself "he would love this". Our conversations were always about kind of silly stuff, an article in MacWorld, a Yankee trade, a new gaffe by the Bushies, or just some new shoes that he had found. I really miss his curiosity and that reassurance that no matter how redundant, extravegant, or minor, he would think it was "cool", "neat", or "interesting". We would spend hours on the phone, gabbing away about nothing. I'm pretty sure that nothing was everything.

I really can't think of a period in my life where I didn't talk to him on the phone at least once a day (actually I can but it was so unbelievably painful that I still haven't begun to unpack it). What I've realized is that no one can or should really fill that void, it was the essence of our relationship and I shouldn't try to substitute something else in there. I think that's why it continues to hurt so much because I know that I really can't replace my chatty, curious dad.

I have a lot more to say but for right now I'll just leave it at this. This picture is of my dad, my sister and me at disney world. He has a beard! The picture is labeled February 1982 and I think he might have brought us down on his own. The picture is totally typical of the three of us: I look like I just poked myself in the eye, my sister looks like a model, and my dad looks like he is trying to absorb every ounce of his time with us.