My Dad died five years ago today.
I was thinking about this on my way home last night -- wallking to the subway, pausing to admire a Christmas display. I was looking at the white ornaments and tinsel when it hit me: this year will be the sixth Christmas my Dad will never see.
My niece and nephew are five years older -- such a difference made in that time. Events have gone on in the world; good and bad. Major things have happened in my family...and my Mom is now older than my Dad. And they'd always joked about the reverse.
We're going out to the cemetary today, but this year may be the last time for me. I've observed my Dad's death for five years, and I don't want to remember -- well, relive -- that day anymore. It's too painful, and I need to let some of this go. Remember the good things, etc.
For some reason, the fact that it snowed that day still sticks out in my mind -- it was so cold. So cold, in fact, that I had to have Michael bring me a warmer coat the next day, as we went out and made the arrangements. I stayed over my mother's house house that night: barely slept.
A big point of distress is that I have new people in my life; people that are important to me, and they will never get to meet him. They will never see how certain aspects of my father are in me, and it's impossible for me to explain it to them. And, of course, Dad will never get to meet them. That frustrates and upsets me to no end.
Cameron Crowe, a film director, talked about how when his father died, it took a long time for his family to find their rhythm again. I know that five years on, my family has yet to find ours. And may not: not ever, or at least not for a long time.
I would write ten pages about how much I miss my Dad, but you all know that already.