Father's Day

I think everyone expected me to fall apart yesterday, but I didn’t.  Yes, it was Father’s Day.  It was the first one without my Dad, and it was just three weeks after he passed.  I think Saturday, the three week mark, was harder. We were in the car when 7:32 struck; that was the first time he coded three weeks ago.  And again at around 7:45 or 7:50, when I got the call.  That is harder. Father’s Day was, numbing.  I didn’t feel much of anything, which is kind of how I feel most days lately and I don’t know why.  I don’t know if this is my brain protecting me from the utter pain and sorrow I would be in if I was allowed to feel it; I don’t know if I just can’t feel any more than I already have – which I think may be the real deal.  Whenever I do think about it, the word that crosses my mind the most is just “f*ck”.  As it was the day that we walked into his room, well the day that I sprinted to his room from the elevator and that’s all I kept saying over and over.  That’s all I can keep saying.  Do I cry?  Of course I do. Every time I have to go to the house and see his car still sitting there, I’m reminded that he’s gone.  Every time I walk through the door, using my own key, I am very well aware of the fact that he is gone.  They both are.

Yesterday was not my worst day, and I am sure that I will have plenty that will be harder.  The day my daughter is accepted into school, the first day of school, the day we move into a house, or hell even looking at houses will be hard; I had planned on bringing him with us, have him look at the electrical and the plumbing and help to negotiate a price for it like he has for every car I’ve bought.  The day I have to put tires on my car, I will probably cry just because I always asked him what I should buy.  Stupid stuff that really, isn’t about him but I wanted him to be there for.  I knew he wouldn’t be there for my daughter’s high school graduation, but I had hoped he would be there for the first Grandparent’s Day at school – but he won’t be.  My brain is just saying “f*ck” and “ugh this sucks” over and over and over and I don’t feel much of anything at all.

My Dad was a great man.  As one of my friends said “he was one of the best Padres I ever knew”, and it’s true.  Sure he was tough, sure he was absent for reasons that I now understand.  He drove us to the mall more times than I can count; he saved me from the roadside more times than I can count, and at all hours of the day and night.  And when the chips fell, he was there.  When I needed him, he was there.  He picked up the phone and called me, he offered to bring me soup every single time I was sick, he offered to watch my daughter time and time again even when he didn’t have to, he was always just there to fall back to whenever I needed to. And now, it sucks that he’s gone and I just feel different.  Maybe that’s why  I’m not crying – it’s because I’m just not the same anymore; I don’t know how to feel, I don’t know how to cry because I just don’t feel the same way I did before he died.  It’s hard to cry when the feelings just aren’t there; the emptiness I feel this time around is bigger than I can ever put into words.