Normally, I don’t like acknowledging the anniversary of painful things. I don’t understand why people celebrate their divorce dates, for example, although I’ve seen many women take themselves on vacations for just that reason.
Still, I can’t ignore the facts. A year ago today, my father left his body behind to go have fun doing soul things. I am amazed and confused that a year has passed.
Part of me feels the pain of losing him as if it were today. She can recall the cries of my mother on the phone, the sight of him in the hospital bed for weeks leading up to his passing, the smell of his skin when I hugged him better than she can remember what I wore yesterday. That part of me also sometimes gets angry at me for choosing to leave him in the hospital so that I could go work out the last day he was alive. She feels guilty that he died alone, and she can’t believe a year has passed already since she’s heard her daddy’s voice.
Another part of me feels like all those things were a lifetime ago. She sees the California landscape outside my door, the trips back east, the new work and new friendships and can’t believe it’s been only a year since she said goodbye to her daddy. She also knows her daddy loves her — not loved, because his soul is out there doing fun things and still loves his daughter as only a dad can. And she knows she’d have had to have gone home sometime, and her daddy probably would’ve just waited her out anyway.
I guess the different parts of me are right. In the grand scheme, a year can seem like less than a day. And a year also can contain enough changes to feel like a lifetime.
As long as I remember to live, to support my family and the people who love my dad, hopefully the part of me that feels guilty will see the part of me who knows I’m loved — not just by my dad, but by all those people who love him and me — and be able to keep living an awesome life.
My dad provided a great example of how to live. He is the only person I know who completed every item on his bucket list. See how Dad Wise completed his bucket list
I hope I can make even half the impact on my world as he did his.