It’s been five months since my dad died and it still doesn’t seem real.
I still miss him every single day. I still want to call him and tell him what happened at school or how my weekend was so much fun.
So, today is five months. I didn’t even realize it until I got a text message from my step-mother at 7:45 this morning saying she’d been up all night thinking about me and my dad (does anyone else think this is weird? I could write a entire other blog about her behavior, but I digress). And then I started crying.
I brought some pictures of him with me today. I kept them in my planner. I wanted to have him close to me, to know that he is still here even if I can’t call him on the phone.
This afternoon I had some time before my therapy appointment, so I went to Central Park for a while. I sat in the grass, looked at the pictures, and let myself cry.
In therapy I talked about how hard my day had been so far. I showed my therapist the pictures and she said she thought it was a good idea that I brought them with me. I told her the story of the last time I saw my dad, how I found out he died, and the events the day of the memorial service. I cried and she cried with me.
Tonight I had my Group Therapy class. Last week I told one of the other students about my dad and how I want to talk about him, but something has been holding me back. He said he would help me this week and encourage me to share it with the group. So tonight I did it. I talked about my dad and how today brought up so many emotions for me. It was hard, but I did it. My group was so supportive and gave me great feedback. They told me I was so brave for sharing. They said it was the saddest story they had ever heard. They said they were proud of me. By the end of the session I was physically and emotionally drained.
Five months. Time goes so fast.