Sunday would be my father's 45th birthday, had he not died, in a motorcycle accident, when I was 16.
Yes, that's a brutal way to begin a post, but I've been trying all week to figure out how I would write this and there isn't really a way to sugar coat grief, so I'm giving you fair warning, no sunshine and lollipops here.
When you lose someone, you get a lot of truisms, a lot of cliches, the most oft repeated are the tried and true "time will heal all wounds" or it's variation "it gets better with time". And the answer is yes, it does. I no longer get deathly ill each year around the anniversary of my father's death, I can make it through Christmas day without having a complete breakdown and most years, I can acknowledge it's his birthday without turning into a sobbing puddle.
What nobody tells you, is that when you lose somebody that you're that close to (and I was SUCH a daddy's girl) the grief never goes completely away. Every year, for about a week and a half before any of the previously mentioned events, I get a little moody, needy, irritable and feel slightly under the weather. It usually takes me a few day before I realize why I feel like shit. My subconscious internal calender is apparently much better than my conscious one. Each year this gets a little more tolerable.
But not this year.
This year has been a little bit too much of insane rollercoaster ride of emotions for me to have the stamina left to deal with this. From breaking up with my high school sweetheart, to feeling totally lost to myself, to the craziness of trying to figure out how to be in a new relationship for the first time in so many years, I'm feeling a little stretched thin. Add on top of that that Che's (that's the new boy, in case you haven't gathered) father died at the end of last year, so we've talked quite a bit about dealing with grief and eachother's fathers and dredging up all of my old, painful emotions , and you have a recipe for, dear lord, I just want to go cuddle up in bed next to my boy and cry for a week.
I think part of it is that, from what Che's told me of his father, our dad's had similar life experiences and similar personality traits. (I mean we both were indoctrinated with a love of Star Trek from a young age, obviously similar dudes) Also, I keep thinking that Che is the first guy I've dated that my father would actually approve of. I'm sure he would've been fine with all my past choices, he was too easy going not to have been. But I think he would've actually really liked Che. They'll neve meet, I'll never meet Che's father, and if this lasts in the longterm way, the marriage and children sort of way, our kids will be grandfather-less. And that, has to be one of the most depressing sentences I've ever written.
Now I'm going to go try to face the day. Immerse myself in work and then, finally, drive to see my boy and collapse in his arms.