My father died.
I've gotten pretty good at hiding it and making it go away. Do you do that sometimes? Oh, I think we all do, but I thought I would ask anyway.
I didn't think I would miss him this much.
I've been so busy at work and I keep adding things on. It's one thing after another, but that keeps me from thinking about it. Trips, teaching at night, taking on another tutoring job in the afternoons after school...sign me up for that.
I can hear his exact words and voice just like it was yesterday.
I don't feel like I can talk to many people about him; our relationship wasn't that good. You can hear the same story over and over if you just ask a few of your friends. They've been through it, too. But I have to get it out, so this is just as good a place as any.
"Sissy, you need to get your ass up here or you might not see me again."
He always called me Sissy.
I'm keeping a paper journal, too. I don't have many pictures of me with my dad, but the ones that I do have need to be somewhere that I can find them and look at them if I want to.
I can't call him anymore, even if I wanted to.
How do you even document death? I don't know either, but I'm finding out. I don't know if anyone will care or will want to read these words years from now, but at least they will know what happened. They might wonder.
"Don't leave me. Don't leave me, please."
Pictures and paper are what I have now. That's all it will take. And words. And they have to be written just so. Just like me talking to you. I can talk here and it doesn't matter if you understand or not, it only matters that I can get it out and breathe.
"I left you and that's not right. I abandoned you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I was a jerk."
I won't, Dad. I won't. But I have to go to work, ok? And then I'll be back.