Father’s day is Sunday.
It’s snuck up on me, and I’ve tried my very best to ignore it.
But, my plans for that day are simple. I’m going to see Ayla, and we’re going to try our hardest not to cry and miss you too much. I regret every day. Every single fucking day I didn’t speak to you. Or tell you how much you meant to me.
It’s cruel, this searing and mind-numbing pain. I miss you, and every morning when I wake up, the box that contains your ashes is the first thing I see.
I hate the pity I see in people’s eyes when I talk about you. I see how they wince when I use past-tense, and reminisce about all the times I spent with you. Life has become this sick game of hiding emotions and pretending I’m alright.
What hurts the most of all isn’t that we lost you. It’s only natural that parents pass away before their children. What kills me is how I can’t shoulder Ayla’s grief for her. I wish I could just siphon it all away from her and leave her blemish and pain free.
It wasn’t right that she was so damn young, that this had to happen in her most promising and mind-opening time of her life. I see how she bottles it up. I can see how she also pretends to be okay.
But that’s all it is.
We still need you.
I love you, Dad.
I’ll try to write again soon.@11 months ago with 1 note
#dear dad #death #grief #father #family #sister #father's day