I was cleaning the cat litter box, once again marveling at my cats' predilection to create fetid evil out of innocent kibble, and out of nowhere I began to miss my father. I managed to finish the job, and then I completely lost my ability to do anything except sob. I'm trying to let myself feel what I need to feel (hence all of the writing, here and in paper journal) but it's impossible to predict these emotional shifts. Sometimes I can tell people about him without crying, and sometimes, well, I begin crying while holding a bag of cat shit.
I know it's good that my dad didn't suffer, that his death came relatively quickly, and so forth. People keep telling me these things, and I understand that they mean well, but it doesn't make him any less absent. It doesn't make me miss him any less. I feel myself regress to my youth, and in this moment, with the panicked one-note desperation of a child, I want nothing other than to have my father here again.
I know it's good that my dad didn't suffer, that his death came relatively quickly, and so forth. People keep telling me these things, and I understand that they mean well, but it doesn't make him any less absent. It doesn't make me miss him any less. I feel myself regress to my youth, and in this moment, with the panicked one-note desperation of a child, I want nothing other than to have my father here again.
Labels: dad
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