there are far too many nights that I lay awake and look at that picture. It's my father, I'm not sure at what age, I think maybe 7 or 8.. but I think about whether or not he ever thought about dying young, or even goals he wanted to accomplish before he died. there are plenty of things I want to do, and I'm only 23. I can only imagine what he had planned, he was 41. not just for himself, but for my mom and me too. I wonder if he wanted more kids than just me, or if he wanted to jump out of a plane or something..
I guess I fixate on this picture because he is the age that I was when he died. I see how happy he looked, and I hope that he was. he lived too short of a life, and I'm just hoping it was a good one.
"time heals all wounds".. it's been said to me a million times by people that have no idea what it feels like to have half of who they are die. it's bullshit. if one of them lost someone close to them, they would know that's bullshit. every year, on november 26th, I feel a little more empty.. because I know I'll never see him again.
I miss him more every day.
