A day that will forever stain my year. A day that still leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. A day that approaches me with anger, frustration, and utter sadness. A day that I need to brace myself for, because no matter how happy, upbeat, and positive I push myself to strive for each and every one of the 365 days a year, I cannot muster the same for today. I can never make it through the day, fully, without a good cry. But hey, I think I'm allowed to check out of my 'strength hotel' at least once a year.
Ten Years. 10. Dix. T.E.N. There is no desirable way to write out (or should I say type out) the number of years we have been deprived of your beautiful soul. They say it gets better. That you heal with time. Well, it does get better and you do heal, but I think what they fail to mention is that you never get back to 'normal.' Whatever normal is. You just simply learn to live with the pain. But before you go thinking I'm off on a melancholic, depressive rant, I want you to know this: feeling the pain makes it real, and making it real keeps them alive. If I don't talk about him, if I go about my life as though none of it ever happened, I would be doing him nothing short of a disservice. I WANT to talk about my Dad. All the time. Even though most of you reading have never met him, or had the pleasure of watching him interact with me (and vice versa), I want you to KNOW what our relationship was like. I believe that this is more for my sake than yours, but that's besides the point.
My Dad LOVED Reba McEntire, absolutely adored her, almost as much as he loved Cher. His favourite colour was blue; I soon adopted this love after he passed. He loved pizza. Oh gosh, and hot dogs. (He was very consistent and dare I say meticulous about the preparation, cooking, and assembly of said hot dogs). He loved to dance with Mom and I in the kitchen. He possessed such a fondness for music. Whether it be attempting to sing (key word: attempting) or allowing himself to be consumed by the melody as he closed his eyes, arms crossed, resting on the top of his head. Oftentimes, he pretended to know the lyrics of a song, only to leave us all in awe of his horrible, very out of sync lip dubbing! And if that wasn't a sight to see, you should have been there to witness his very precise, step-by-step, Tim Horton's order! Can you imagine how mortifying it was for me to order a coffee - double cream, one and a half sugars - accompanied by an everything bagel "well toasted, hold the fire" ?! Yes, we had to add the "hold the fire" part because he literally wanted the bagel toasted to the brink of setting off the fire alarms. Having said that, when Tim Horton's used to carry fresh coffee cake, he would split a slice with me, always asking for an extra line of caramel, saving the last piece (adorning most of the caramel sauce) for me. Now that I look back though, I realize he surely just satisfied his sweet tooth later on at one of the 38 hidden sweet stations he managed to stash throughout the house. Seriously, Mom found bags of Wine Gums in the oddest of places after he passed. Caught you, secrets out, Mister! I could carry on, but I guess this all boils down to one, particular memory that I cherish and carry with me day in and day out: my Dad loved me and I can never forget how it felt to feel his love.
I still can't quite grasp the concept that I'll never see him again in this life time. A plethora of changes have occurred in the past 10 years, some I couldn't have even dreamt or imagined at the mere age of 15. He may not be here to cherish a moment, but I cherish his legacy and who he was each and every day.
If I can offer any words of advice: talk about them. Don't be afraid to reminisce. Tell someone about your loved one. Be bold and live your life fully for THEM.
Keeping their fire alight is the one thing you CAN do for every second, moment and memory they cannot physically be present for.
I miss you and love you more than words can say my sweet angel.
Until we meet again,
Your (not so) Little Girl xx
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