Wednesday night at dinner, I was telling Ryan a little story about my dad… how whenever my mom made fish for dinner, even the boneless filets, my dad always got a bone. And I mean always. Even when no one else at the table did. He used to say she was trying to choke him to death and make it look like an accident. It was funny. Always. Really funny.
As I finished the story, I suddenly found myself absolutely overcome by grief. I had to leave the table to regain my composure. I don’t know why it happened. I usually have some warning when the sadness tsunami hits. But not this time.
I still miss my dad so much. I miss him every day. I still cry. It still hurts beyond what I ever believed possible.
And today, June 26, was his birthday... he would have been 72 this year. Ten years ago today, I was sitting at my baby shower, 8 months pregnant, surrounded by people I loved, missing my dad, who had died just months prior. Today, 10 years later, I’ll sit at his grave with my nearly-10-year-old baby girl, missing him as much as I did then.
I wonder when I won’t miss him so much. Because it’s just so damned painful, part of me wants it to stop... but only part of me.
Happy birthday, Dad. Ryan and I will blow out the candles for you! XO