It was one year ago today that my father woke up, got out of bed, and collapsed a few minutes later from a massive, fatal stroke. I honestly can’t believe that it has already been so long. I used to talk to my dad pretty much every week — if not more often — and the idea that it has been 52 weeks since I last did is still somehow surprising, and the fact that I never will again is almost inconceivable.
So, the first year, which everyone says is the worst, is now done, though I don’t know where it goes from here. I guess it gets easier, or less unreal? I kind of hate the idea that not having my dad around is going to eventually seem normal. I know that’s the way it goes, but it doesn’t stop it from sucking.
I’ve written a lot about Dad here over the year, and probably will continue to do so in the future. I can’t seem to today, however; I just miss him more than I have words to express and hate that he’s gone.