After a loss, a common phrase that gets thrown around is “time heals all wounds”. But what they don’t tell you is that in that sadness you still have memories to cling to. Time not only took away the pain, but it seems to have stolen my memories too. After 18 years, there just seems to be a large, gaping hole.
Whenever the death of my dad comes up, especially when I tell the story to people that have never heard it, most apologize for having to make me relive it. But what is hard to explain (mainly because I don’t want to sound like a psychopath) is that it doesn’t make me sad to tell it anymore. After 18 years, I feel like I’m a narrator telling someone’s else’s story.
So either because I a masochist or just tired of not remembering and not feeling sad, I decided to borrow home movies (which yes require a VCR that I totally still have!!!) Although I’m still trying to find all the cords...
So in the meantime, I am flipping through a memory book I made several years ago (which I am so thankful I created). I started to fear that I was beginning to forget him already, so I created a book writing down whatI did remember of him- his favorite things, what our Sundays (the only day we saw each other after the divorce) looked like, and what I remembered about him personally. Then it slowly evolved into letter writing to him. It became the only time I could say "daddy" anymore and I treasured it. It also helped in my grieving and missing him, because it was a way to tell him all I wish I could if he were still here.
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