The 2 year anniversary of your death passed without me noticing. And to be honest, realizing I forgot hurt more than it would have to remember the day of. Sometimes I forget you're gone. Not in some I'm still in shock and can't believe it type of way though. I used to go this long without talking to you. Fighting a silent battle across oceans of distance created by misunderstandings and influence. I saw you as an enemy (views created by eyes that longed to protect my heart from life's brokenness). Now each time I remember you're not alive for a moment it's the same crumbling feeling as the night I was told. I hadn't said enough, asked the right questions, told the right stories, experienced enough moments. None of it was enough, is enough.
I can feel our past moments in my hands. I can touch that Christmas Eve we stayed up all night, the like 15 mile walk to the mall, the cross country road trips. Yet here in this breath I stand unable to make up for all the falls and winters I didn't call. I struggle to hear your voice sometimes though I see the visions clearly, and that only deepens the ache inside. And sometimes I get jealous when I see other women with their fathers. That part hurts pretty bad too. It's really all a pretty chaotic site I'm still working through. I wish you were here to help me with that. The deeper I get into myself the more I see your face. This road may have been a little bit smoother had I gotten to ask the questions, but I've learned not to question life.