Two years later, I still miss my Dad everyday. The tears don’t fall quiet as steadily, but it still hits me from time to time. Through sheer force of will, I have attempted to live my life; a life my Dad would be proud of. Two years later and I continue to wish I could share things with him, tell him my good news, or just hear his voice.

A few months ago, I was trying to fasten around my neck, a necklace that he’d given me. Suddenly, it slipped from my hands and went crashing down on the cold bathroom floor. It was a royal blue, glass heart, vile. I remember when he gave it to me, I asked him what I was supposed to keep in it…drugs? He laughed and said he didn’t know you could keep stuff in it. It wasn’t the most beautiful necklace, in fact, it was sort of cheap. I wore it all the time anyway. I loved it because he gave it to me. He saw it in a store, thought of me, and gave it to me. When I looked down at the hundreds of tiny blue pieces of glass, I burst into tears and was inconsolable for a few moments. It couldn’t be fixed. For a minute, I thought about keeping the shards of glass, but came to my senses. I have other things: Photographs, knick-knacks, mementos, my memories.

Occasionally, it hits me really hard as though I’ve been punched in the chest. My Dad is really gone. It still seems unfair. It remains the great tragedy of my life. I try not to think about him not walking me down the aisle or dancing with me at my wedding – or getting drunk and obnoxious. He wouldn’t like that I’m wearing black, but I’d make some joke about not being a virgin anymore and he’d laugh it off uncomfortably or get annoyed with me for being so crass. He probably wouldn’t like that I’m not getting married in a church in front of God, but I’d work to change his mind the way I did with just about everything. Eventually, he’d see my point.

It’s raining today. My brother JCS and I want to visit his grave site today. Hardly anyone has gone in the last year. Not because they don’t miss him, but because it’s just too painful. It’s raining, so maybe we won’t go. I’ve also had a headache and neck ache since yesterday. I don’t particularly like going to the grave because he’s not really there. It’s a beautiful place, serene and quiet, but he’s not there.

I don’t know if I appreciated him enough when he was here or if I let him know how much I loved him. I hope I did. I think he knew. Still, the one thing I’ve taken from this is that you absolutely need to let people know how you feel. Life is short. Our time on this planet is but the blink of an eye.

It’s a nice thought to think that our loved ones are watching us from Heaven, but I don’t know. I wonder. If it’s true, my Dad can look down from time to time and see that I’m doing just fine. Better, anyway.

It’s the perfect day for rain. It rained the day we put his ashes into the ground.

I miss you, Dad.