How has it already been 6 months? Considering it feels like a lifetime has passed.
I feel like getting a tattoo that reads March 26th, 2012 somewhere on my body. It’s a day that’s going to haunt me ‘till the day I die. Well, maybe not haunt. But I don’t think I’ll forget it anytime soon.
I really thought that I’d be over the whole thing by now, especially since there has been so much that’s happened in the last 6 months. I finished school, I got a real job, I graduated college - in that order. And for some reason, every month around the 26th, something inside me breaks for a day, sometimes two, and I think “how did that happen?” Then, of course, I have to relive the whole weekend in my head. The phone calls, the hospital visits, the doctors weighing the options.
I was watching The L.A. Complex the other night and Kal’s dad had a stroke. The show ended with Kal looking through the hospital door at his dad, laying in a hospital bed, tubes down his throat, in a coma. Automatic tears, just from picturing my dad in the same scene.
He, unfortunately, never woke up. I never had the chance to say goodbye, to tell him I loved him, nothing. I don’t even remember what the last thing I said to him was. We’d just finished watching the Jets game and I was on my way out the door. He probably said something like “Don’t stay out too late” and I would have said something back like “Uh, yeah, okay, dad. Whatever.”
On the one had, I’m almost thankful I wasn’t home when my mom and sister called 911. I can’t imagine having those visions running through my mind. It’s bad enough that from the stories I’ve heard I’ve managed to piece together what happened in my own dramatic reenactment.
On the other hand, I wish I had been home. Maybe then I wouldn’t be kicking myself for missing what turned out to be my last chance to say goodbye, I love you, anything.
Is it weird that I still have dreams about him? Nothing even related to his passing. Different things, though. I can see him, hear him, talk to him even. I don’t think it’s that crazy. It’s just worse when I wake up, even 6 months later, and want to tell him about the dream I’d just had.
“Hey, dad! I just had the craziest dream! You were in it and…”