Dear Dad

It's been one hell of a few weeks. A week and a half ago, I woke up after a "woulda-coulda-shoulda" dream. I would have run to you first had mom not been in my line of sight, I could have hugged you first and exclaimed "Daddy!" instead of "Mommy!", I should have. Period. I woke up on a rainy morning with this huge hole in my heart. Not the kind of metaphorical hole you might think of when reading that, but an actual hole. I was empty - devoid of any emotions except extreme anger. With myself, with my job, with the students I teach, with my life, and especially, about your death. I was angry with my brothers for not being here physically for mom, I was angry with how it was raining and dark and dreary that morning, I was angry with myself for not actually taking the time to express my excitement for you being at my concert as I did with mom. I got to work and exploded. I haven't sobbed like that since I first heard the news, since I last saw you - dead, in a coffin - and since I finally laid you to rest beneath the ground. The following day - Friday - I met mom to go to the lawyer. They talked about your death, which was excrutiating to hear. I wanted to stop them and scream at them. I wanted to march over to the Clear Lake Fire Department and ask them why the hell they didn't have the tools THERE TO HELP YOU. I wanted to know WHY YOU WERE TAKEN AWAY FROM ME. GOD DAMNIT GOD DAMNIT GOD DAMNIT. 

When I met mom for the appt. at the lawyers, she gave me a sack saying there were some books and things inside that she thought I might like. I took it and absentmindedly threw it in the passenger seat. I didn't think about looking at it until I got home that night. The first thing I took out was your hat. Still smelled like you, the shop, your life. Still had dirt on it. Right there you were in front of my eyes, wearing it the stupid way you always wore it and all of a sudden I couldn't touch it anymore. I laid it on the counter where it stayed for the rest of the night. All of a sudden, I was sobbing again. Sobbing like I did when I heard the news, when I last saw you laying dead in a coffin, when I laid you to rest beneath the ground. GOD DAMNIT. Sobbing like that dreary Thursday morning when I felt empty inside. Empty. GOD DAMNIT. The rest of my weekend, I was exhausted. 

We went home this weekend (one month, 29 days) and my body felt limp when we pulled in the driveway. It was like I couldn't pull my body out of the vehicle. I was dreading going into that house. But I made myself, for mom. I tried to gather myself, but I couldn't stop crying. She led me into the closet you built her (GOD DAMNIT) but I couldn't do it just yet. I needed to do it alone. So I took some time to calm myself and went into your bedroom alone (although I told mom I was looking for chapstick). I just stood there and took it all in - you weren't there anymore. Your presence was gone. Your clothes were gone. Your things were gone. You were gone. It was hard to take in. 

I must have taken too long because mom finally came in. I was so entranced by trying to find SOMETHING left of you (GOD DAMNIT) that she scared me. And then I lost it. I tried to be strong for her, I swear I did. I didn't do a very good job that night. 

Later on we went into the shed - yet another thing I had to brace myself for. Again, your presence was gone. It was hard to keep myself together - I don't know how Eric did it. I could talk, walk, act normal, but I couldn't keep the tears from falling. It was like I was some mutant - perfectly normal except for blurry, tearing eyes and a tear-stained face. 

The next day (one month, 30 days) was better, but I still felt empty. It was the following day (one month, 31 days) that hit me the hardest. I was fine, mom was not. She's so sad - she started sobbing when we were saying our goodbyes. It wrenched my heart out (what's left of it). I could hardly stand to leave her. When we finally got into the car, I yelled at Eric to hurry up and leave. GOD DAMNIT. I couldn't stand slowly pulling out of our driveway, out of town and inevitably, out of her sadness. It needed to be lightening-speed or I wasn't going to make it emotionally. 

You'd be so proud of Eric - he's been the most supportive, loving husband I could ask for. He's done what I've asked when I've said, "Leave me the fuck alone" or "Stop touching me." He's supported me when I'm sobbing and he's not sure what memory (GOD DAMNIT) might have triggered it this time. He's done an awesome job cheering me up when I've needed it. He's been the ideal husband. I don't know what I would do without him. Then again, I wasn't ever sure what I would do without you, and here I am. I've learned that it fucking sucks, that's for sure.

I love you (GOD DAMNIT) and I miss you more. Why did this have to happen?