6 months

Salut Papa,

I think that asking you a question like "How are you?" is probably rather pointless and silly.  

Also, I would love to just pepper you with a million and one other questions right now ... but I know I won't be getting answers anytime soon.  So maybe I'll just do a bit of talking, and hope that somehow you can know that you're missed around here.

It's been six months since you left.  On the one hand, that seems like a really long time. On the other, it feels like just yesterday that I got the news that you'd gone.  And because I'm so far away and not seeing places you would be without you in them ... I don't always think of you.

But then there's a scene in a movie. A song sung with co-workers.  A mention of someone's father.  A mention of you. Or else my eye catches the picture of you I have hanging up in my room.  And then it all comes back. 

It's not easy to think of you as gone. It's ironic because when you were nearing the end, I just wanted you to go quickly, painlessly, and I took comfort in the fact that you had something better waiting for you.  A place where you would be whole again.

I really hope you don't mind my saying that.  It was tough seeing you in that condition. In pain. Out of control. A prisoner in your own body. We knew - and I think you did, too - that this was the end.

So there was some relief when you left.

Relief, but also sadness.  Yes, you are now in a better place, and yes, we will see you again.

But that doesn't mean we don't miss you and your "you-ness."

The way you told everyone you thought was pulling your leg to "Go jump in the lake!"

The way you patiently handled "backseat passenger" freak-outs from individuals who shall remain nameless (please note the plural; I must regrettably include myself in this category).

The way you could fall asleep at the drop of a hat.

The way you pulled out an atlas and your own travel stories every single time I mentioned a new trip I would be taking.

The way you cared about your family and put them first.

The way you smiled.

 

And now that you're gone, everything seems so ... surreal. All I - and every other human being - know is this life.  We know what life on Earth is like. We know humanity.  It's oftentimes hard to grasp the thought that there's more that we can't see.  I can't picture you anywhere but here. You're gone ... somewhere.  It's like you didn't exist. Don't exist.  And yet I know you do.

My brain hurts thinking about it all. And it's sometimes hard to find joy, keep living and loving because someday it's all going to come to an end, anyhow.

Yet, I know you were here. Now you're there. And life goes on.  I cry my tears, then I pick myself up, dust myself off and keep going.  

Because you of all people wouldn't want things to be any different. 

But that doesn't mean that you're not on my mind.