He always told us to eat our meat because it would put hair on our chest. I always told him I didn't want hair on my chest! But it would make me giggle all the same. He always made me laugh at horrible family gatherings when I refused to have fun - and what do you know, they're not so bad anymore (although I always miss him terribly whenever I see any of my extended family). He always tried to make things more fun, happier, more exciting. The night my grandma died, he gave me a beer. I wasn't old enough yet, but he was having one, so he probably thought I needed one too. I didn't have a beer the night he died, I just had a heart broken open so wide I'm surprised it's begun to heal.
But it has begun to heal. Because my dad, even though he's not here, has made his death better for all of us. He's healed us in a way that I didn't know was possible. I am able to remember things that weren't so important back then, but now I will never forget. He has made my life better because of his death. I don't take things for granted, I try to spend more time with family. Conversations and time spent with people are so very fragile that I try to take in the little things, like every second I'm with them.
So in a way, he has healed the world. My world. And my world has healed from the devastation his death wreaked. It's an interesting circle, isn't it?
