For a brief moment this morning while cuddling and playing with my kids in bed, I forgot that it was August 11 and once I realized it, I felt awful. It has been 9 years, shouldn't I allow myself to forget once in awhile? Shouldn't that be a good thing?
My typical August 11 day is filled with remembering what I was doing that day: hosting a couples bridal shower in my parent's backyard. Rushing around with my girlfriends getting everything just so. I remember my dad coming out to visit for a bit while he waited for my mom to get ready for a wedding they were headed to. The night before Kevin and I had gotten in a ridiculous fight and I went to my parent's for the night. God sure does work in mysterious ways....
We had a wonderful shower and everyone stayed late into the night playing games and swimming. It took hours for my sister-in-law to get a hold of me and I remember collapsing in the backyard. You hear people talk about that feeling....your body failing but you never really think it actually happens to people.
Does the pain ever lessen? Sometimes I worry that I can't remember the sound of his voice.....
Will I spend the rest of my days being in joyous moments only to realize that every wonderful occasion is actually bittersweet?
Days get better as time goes by, but this day is my day to wallow in self-pity. To cry for not having my dad with me for all the grown up things I have done and become. For him to be proud of me, for him to realize I turned out ok, I didn't stay that naughty teenager or that impossible 20-something that knew it all
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