I think this was due to the colossal bad luck of having watched some father's day commercial on the television last night. I swear, I felt shattered even as I watched it, for some reason, I was unable to change the channel. Perhaps, it was a force of habit. I used to love those ads. I used to feel incredibly lucky that I had a father, who was my greatest supporter, my finest cheerleader.
I lost my father eighteen months ago, but the pain still feels fresh. Some days it is bearable, some days I feel like I am choking on the pain. It has become easy for me to pretend that I'll live on; after all watching him leave us bit by bit, through the entire period of his illness didn't destroy me. I tell myself that I survived and that I have my mother who needs me. But I lie to myself constantly, I grieve still. The empty chair on the dining table hurts still, the books, the remnants of his life, an unexpected piece of paper with his handwriting, the bookmark in the middle of the book that he was reading...... Sometimes I can feel his hand stroking my hair, I can even pretend to hear his tread on the stairs, or even smell him in the kitchen.
They say there are stages of grief, if so, I want to know which stage I am at? The stage when I miss him so much that it hurts physically. Is it the futility of trying to console my mother, who lost her partner, is it missing the petty arguments and pot-shots my father and I dealt one another to show our love, or is it weeping inconsolably after finding that he had saved all our father's day and birthday cards when he insisted that he didn't.
This father's day I am still grieving Papa... for you and for us and for all the memories that we will never get to make. But I am still grateful to have had you as my father, grateful for the memories, the arguments, the songs, the books, the food and the love. Thank you for making me strong, I will always miss you but I will survive this and live on and be happy. Happy Father's Day