I’ve started this post a million times. But then I get a knot stuck in my throat and a pain in my gut and I can’t continue. I know it will be good for me to pour this out. I know I’ll feel better just having publicly acknowledged this…but, it’s a very scary thing.
I turned 32 in January this year. It doesn’t seem like such a scary age except my father died when he was 32. 32! He had a heart condition – was required to have annual check-ups – but this was undetectable. His appointment had been just a few weeks before his death. No matter. He had a heart attack. In the blink of an eye, he was gone.
I was four.
It didn’t make sense then and it doesn’t make sense now.
My heart is already racing just having put all this down on paper.
My birthday was hard this year. I usually look forward to it, and although it was a perfectly wonderful day, I was torn up inside. Even my mother acknowledged it. She sees it, feels it. It’s a sense of dread that I can’t shake, no matter how hard I try.
I’m 32. I’m 32. I have so much more to do, to see, to learn.
I’m not sick. I don’t have a heart condition. I’m fine. I’m healthy. I have a beautiful little boy and a wonderful, loving husband. But my heart still aches…for me, for him, for my mother. I look at my life and can’t imagine it ending today.
February was the worst because the Bug was 14 months old. My sister was 14 months old when my father died. My heart tore and cracked just thinking about my son growing up without me. What stories would people share? Would he know how much I loved him? He needs me. I need him more.
I can’t let this go. Not yet. Not this year.
With Father’s Day today, I’m feeling it even more. I just hung up from a lovely conversation with my grandmother and after talking with her, I’m consumed with thoughts of him. I wanted today to be a fun day for my husband, to celebrate love and family, but no matter how much fun it has been (and it was!), it is still a day that ends with heartache because my father isn’t here.
I want this year to be over. As much as I want to cling to every bit of my son’s development, I want to flash forward through time so that I am 33. It’ll be over then. It’ll be better then.
He’ll still be gone.
I’ll still miss him and grieve my loss. I’ll still cling to the stories that family members share so that I know him just a little bit. I’ll still wish that I could talk with him and hear him whisper in my ear his pearls of wisdom.
I’ll still love him.
But I’ll be 33 and somehow, I know that I will feel better. My heart will have healed just a little. I’ll be a little less scared.