Almost 2 yrs later...
I realized I hardly have any pictures of him.
Does anyone have any they'd like to post here? I'd really appreciate it.
X-posted to my LJ:
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Almost 2 years ago (this Sunday, to be exact), I wasn't ready to say goodbye. To admit to myself that he was gone. 2 years later, I doubt that I'll ever be ready, but I'm going to his grave anyway.
He touched my life so deeply in the years I knew him, I don't even know how to describe in words what he meant to me. It's amazing to me how many people could say the same about him.
Lots of people knew him better. Saw him more often. Maybe I didn't go to the funeral because I felt like I didn't know him well enough, and I would have felt silly crying hysterically next to the people who have known him forever (not that they would have ever made me feel that way, that's my own hangup).
I never miss a funeral. There's a long story behind that, and it caused a lot of resentment in my family for years, but now's really not the time for me to even open that box... but the point is: I never miss a funeral. In the past year, I've lost Uncle Bob, Uncle Martin, and in another month it will be a year since my sister passed away. The funerals were hard, but it was closure (or at least the start of it).
Maybe that's why I didn't go to his funeral. Denial. And I don't know if I've moved past that stage yet, even after all this time. I'm so glad to have Kristen there on Sunday, she knows how to handle a hysterical Eileen.
There are so many things I wish I could share with him. Or just walk around Marine Park with him again, or lay in my bed snuggled up and having those hour(s)-long deep conversations that set everything right in my head.
I could really use that right now.
Does anyone have any they'd like to post here? I'd really appreciate it.
X-posted to my LJ:
_________________________________________
Almost 2 years ago (this Sunday, to be exact), I wasn't ready to say goodbye. To admit to myself that he was gone. 2 years later, I doubt that I'll ever be ready, but I'm going to his grave anyway.
He touched my life so deeply in the years I knew him, I don't even know how to describe in words what he meant to me. It's amazing to me how many people could say the same about him.
Lots of people knew him better. Saw him more often. Maybe I didn't go to the funeral because I felt like I didn't know him well enough, and I would have felt silly crying hysterically next to the people who have known him forever (not that they would have ever made me feel that way, that's my own hangup).
I never miss a funeral. There's a long story behind that, and it caused a lot of resentment in my family for years, but now's really not the time for me to even open that box... but the point is: I never miss a funeral. In the past year, I've lost Uncle Bob, Uncle Martin, and in another month it will be a year since my sister passed away. The funerals were hard, but it was closure (or at least the start of it).
Maybe that's why I didn't go to his funeral. Denial. And I don't know if I've moved past that stage yet, even after all this time. I'm so glad to have Kristen there on Sunday, she knows how to handle a hysterical Eileen.
There are so many things I wish I could share with him. Or just walk around Marine Park with him again, or lay in my bed snuggled up and having those hour(s)-long deep conversations that set everything right in my head.
I could really use that right now.