One year later ...

So ... here we are ... one year later.

Strangely, I thought I would have a lot to say about this. But I feel at a loss for words. I've actually been thinking a lot about how to blog about this over the past few weeks. What would I say? How would I express myself?

Has anything changed? Well, we've been through all the firsts. His first birthday. Our first Christmas without him. Our first St. Patricks day without him. My first Father's Day without a father. Mum and Dad's anniversary. The one year anniversary of his passing. The one year anniversary of his funeral.

On August 25th I went for pizza with my good friend Leesa. As we were chatting, she asked me how I was doing with everything. I was telling her how I was ok, that things were going well. And then I started to explain how only now am I started to remember some things that happened last year. Mostly in relation to my aunts death (she had a heart attack 6 days after my dad died, while she was with us for his funeral). I had forgotten a lot of things about it. But as I was thinking about her on the anniversary of her death (August 24th), I started to recall some things - conversations I had, people I had to call, the whole experience itself from start to finish. I recelled things I had previously forgotten as I told Leesa this story. It caused the hair on the back of my neck and my arms to stand up. I felt chilled. Then we spoke more about my dad. I told Leesa that I thought I was ok, that I didn't think I would have anymore random breakdowns. You know, the kind where you hear a song on the radio that causes you to burst in to tears. Or how a certain smell, or memory that just bring back all the pain from those first days. I thought this wouldn't happen anymore. That now that the first year was over, I wouldn't go through this anymore.

I was wrong.

The next day, I was at Chapters. As I stood in line to pay for my purchases, I noticed a middle aged man in front of me holding two DVD's. "The Vicar of Dibley". Dad loved this show. So did Mum. I tried to shake off the feeling this gave me. I went upstairs to the bookstore coffee shop to read and enjoy a cup of java. Then the grief grabbed me. It was so overwhelming I had to leave. I raced to my car as quickly as I could and then the pain took over. I was in tears. Sobbing in my car in the parkade of a shopping mall.

So maybe I'm not ok. But this I know for sure. I will be.

What he wants ...

I feel stuck ... again ... as though I have been living this previous year on one single day. August 18, 2009. Groundhog Day. Sure, I've had some pretty incredible experiences since my dad died. I because Auntie Erin to Atticus. I went to the Philippines. I've met some great new friends. I finished my first year as a nurse and got a Permanent Full-Time job. In many peoples' lives they would find this to be enough. And while I have enjoyed and appreciated these things, I often find myself stuck in a moment that occurred nearly one year ago. When I hear those words in my head again ... when I hear my mother say "Dad died this morning" ... it takes me back to the pain I felt at that instant. I miss him desperately.

I know it sounds weird, but sometimes I can actually kind of hear him talking to me. Maybe because I think about him so often. Maybe it's when I listen to his music. Whatever the reason, I feel it. On the weekend, I was on Salt Spring Island and I was thinking about him, journalling, and I feel like he told me he was sorry. That's the first time I ever felt that - that he would be sorry. Sorry for leaving us. Sorry that he never met Atticus (although I like to believe dad met Atticus before the rest of us did - that he came to us from heaven ... our angel on earth). I think he's sorry he'll never get to walk me down the aise, or Christen my children, or to be a grandfather. He wants me to know it's better for him this way. He's not suffering. There's no grief in heaven. Just music and laughter and cheese-whiz and Barney. He wants me to be happy. He knows I miss him. He knows it hurts, that I suffer every day without him. But he's here. He wants me to know that he checks on us every day. And he's so proud of us and he loves us more than he could ever describe.

I love you too, Dad. So very very much.

Dad, maybe the next time you stop by to talk to me you could help me figure out what to do next? Where to go? How to get through this? How to move forward? Because feeling as though this last year was a blur is a bit disconcerting. ONE YEAR! One year and I feel like I'm emotionally stunted, as though I haven't grown at all as a person. Sure I can say and do the right things to make others believe I'm coping just fine. And maybe I am. Maybe it's normal to feel this way?

While I'm chatting with you ... if you don't mind ... could you give Reecey a big hug and kiss and bonks for me? Read her the "Belly Button Book"? Sing her the Barney song? I can just imagine the ruckus you're all causing up there!!! After kids-hour, I know you'll be having a big party with Laura and Mavis, your brothers, your parents, Diane, Basil, Donnie, Herman. Probably having a few pints and singing all sorts of Stan Rogers tunes. Sounds like a blast, Dad! Enjoy. You've earned it. :)