(no subject)
New Year's Eve. I'm facing New Year's Eve without you. This seems more terrifying than Christmas did. Christmas comes and goes with little effect on every day life. New Year's Eve signifies a change. A big change. Usually, it represents a fresh start, a time to make changes to better your life. I don't want any of that. I want to just stay here. Stay right here, so I don't have to say it's been a year. Or that it's been two, or three. So I don't have to face my birthday, your birthday or anything else without you. Once the holiday's are over, life gets back into sync.
I'm not ready for sync. I'm not ready to fall back into the normal routine, because there is no normal anymore. Everything is abnormal, and I am doing my best to just step through it. I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I hate not knowing what I'm doing. I hate that I have to pretend that I do because there is no time to stop and grieve.
Tomorrow marks the beginning of the hardest year of my life. This has thrown absolutely everything out of order, and sometime I have to try to find it again. I'm not ready.
I've worried about this sort of thing for a long, long time. The first time I killed a bug, I freaked out because I was so sure that he had babies, and now those babies wouldn't have a daddy. The idea of not having a daddy absolutely broke my heart. In my head, I've had an order for how this sort of thing was suppose to happen. Grandpa would go first. Then Grandma. Then mom, and finally, many years down the line, when you were old and grouchy and not wearing black socks and shorts because of the deal we made so long ago, you would go. Everything indicated that is how it would go. This was never part of the deal. Your parents were not suppose to still be here when you left us. But they are. Now I'm paranoid I'm going to lose everyone. I hate having that fear. I hate it. But in the last two years I've lost so many things that were so important to me. Every time I get sort of through one, another comes along. I'm so tired. Tired of everything.
I saw someone the other day wearing a "Donate Life" bracelet. The very same one I wear every single day in an effort to somehow keep a physical piece of you with me. I wanted to ask them so many questions, hug them so hard and just cry. But I didn't. Instead, I made a simple comment, showed them mine and left it at that.
I'm about 10 minutes shy of ushering in the biggest struggle I've faced. I can't stop it. But I sure won't be celebrating it.
I love you, daddy.
Love,
Me.
I'm not ready for sync. I'm not ready to fall back into the normal routine, because there is no normal anymore. Everything is abnormal, and I am doing my best to just step through it. I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I hate not knowing what I'm doing. I hate that I have to pretend that I do because there is no time to stop and grieve.
Tomorrow marks the beginning of the hardest year of my life. This has thrown absolutely everything out of order, and sometime I have to try to find it again. I'm not ready.
I've worried about this sort of thing for a long, long time. The first time I killed a bug, I freaked out because I was so sure that he had babies, and now those babies wouldn't have a daddy. The idea of not having a daddy absolutely broke my heart. In my head, I've had an order for how this sort of thing was suppose to happen. Grandpa would go first. Then Grandma. Then mom, and finally, many years down the line, when you were old and grouchy and not wearing black socks and shorts because of the deal we made so long ago, you would go. Everything indicated that is how it would go. This was never part of the deal. Your parents were not suppose to still be here when you left us. But they are. Now I'm paranoid I'm going to lose everyone. I hate having that fear. I hate it. But in the last two years I've lost so many things that were so important to me. Every time I get sort of through one, another comes along. I'm so tired. Tired of everything.
I saw someone the other day wearing a "Donate Life" bracelet. The very same one I wear every single day in an effort to somehow keep a physical piece of you with me. I wanted to ask them so many questions, hug them so hard and just cry. But I didn't. Instead, I made a simple comment, showed them mine and left it at that.
I'm about 10 minutes shy of ushering in the biggest struggle I've faced. I can't stop it. But I sure won't be celebrating it.
I love you, daddy.
Love,
Me.