I can't.
"They" say that the first year is the hardest. When my Dad first died, I was so impatient. I wanted time to go by quickly so I could get this first year over with, and get all these "firsts" done. I had just spent years going through all the "lasts" and I just wanted to be done, finished, completed. Moving forward again.
Recently -- well, up until Father's Day (see last post), I thought I was starting to do alright. Meaning that I could think about him without tearing up. (That's "tear" as in the tears you get when you cry, not "tear" as in what you would do to your clothing when you were upset in Biblical times.) Not that tearing up is a sign of weakness, but to me personally it feels like other people see it as weakness so I want to be able to talk about my Dad and think about him even without getting tears in my eyes. Because yes, I'm always and forever going to be sad about losing him, but I'm not sad about the fact that he's not suffering anymore, nor am I sad about the fact that for almost 50 years, I had the best Dad a girl could have ever hoped for. I am the luckiest kid in the whole got dang world. Maybe he didn't buy me a pony or teach me how to become a mechanic or let me drive the Corvette, but all that didn't matter in the end. I was his favorite, and now I get the honor of owning his favorite car. So there. I'll be a brat about it if I want to.
But eleven months is hitting me like a tidal wave, and I am completely starting to dread the next month or so. I don't want to do the first anniversary. This is starting to feel like the wound was pretty well scabbed over but now it's getting pulled off again -- not just pulled off but dug into and pulled off so that the wound is as big as it was the first time, or even bigger and more raw and irritated than it was before. Not nice and pink and healed underneath, but just as red and angry as ever, as if it's just been festering for a year instead.
I have survived 100% of my bad days so far. I will survive this, too.
This is only the first year. I have to do this for the rest of my life. Hopefully "they" are right and this will be the hardest one. Not that August 2nd for the rest of my life is going to be easy, but I'm pretty sure it can't be much worse than it was in 2024. At least I can hang my hat on that. If I wore a hat that I needed to hang. Up.
Siiiiiiiiigh.
I'm so glad I have his car. It has really, really helped. Really. More than I ever could have imagined it would.
Sometimes I have these little intrusive thoughts (my new favorite term, now that I've found out that's what they are and I've been having them all my freaking life, lol) about having the Lincoln at a car show and then my sister and her current husband show up and are all like, opening the doors and sitting inside and everything, and I get to swoop in and be like, Excusez-moi? This does not belong to you in any way, shape, or form, so I will thank you kindly to get your sorry asses out of MY beautiful car! Which I know is totally not the preferred Christian response, but I need somewhere to direct my feelings at right now, and I choose Anger, and I choose my sister because why not. That's all the explanation I have time to give right now because I have to get back to work.
TTYL!
