Some days are okay. Most days are okay.
Then, I feel guilty for being okay.
Then, I’m not okay.
Grief is weird. I can be perfectly content, then a thought will pop in my head. A memory. Something about that last day he was alive.
I still have a lot of things I wish I would have said over the years. Funny how the last three months that we had, they didn’t seem like important things to say. Now, I wish I would have said thing. Asked questions that are pulling at my heart.
We’re cleaning out his house to get it ready to sell. That’s hard. He’s lived there my entire life. It’s his house. The thought of someone else living there, and it not being Dad’s house, it kind of hard to grasp. It’s always been his.
Grief is weird. Sometimes, I can feel the tightness in my throat. This is usually when I feel like I’m going to start crying. Other times, it’s anger and rage, always directed at the people that don’t deserve it.
I feel like people are forgetting that he ever existed. The grave marker hasn’t been placed yet, which bothers me. No one knows who is buried there.
We’ve been struggling. It’s not every resting moment now. They’re random.
This time last week, I was sitting at my Dad’s bedside knowing that he was dying. I promised him that he wouldn’t be alone when he died.
I reminded him of the weekends when I was little. He had gotten me a Barbie bat. It was pink foam with a purple handle embossed with hearts and stars. He would pitch to me, I’d hit and run the bases. Then, I’d have to go get the ball so he could pitch again.