Once the numbers on the clock hit 1:08, it will be 4 years since my dad died.
I still remember it all like it was yesterday happening right this moment.
I never know what to do. There’s really not much I can do.
I sit. And sit. I stare at nothing, smoke my cigarettes. Maybe have some music on.
But at 1:08AM, there is only me, my thoughts and a moment of silence for him and the things he taught us, whether he knew we were learning or not. A moment to recognize the people my family and I have become without him and celebrating the past we had with him.
I take a moment to remember my dad, trying to remember only the good things, knowing it’s time I stop blaming him for the bulk of my issues. Trying to forgive him.
At 1:08AM though, I allow a little pain — there is always at least a little pain in memory — but no bitterness.
I try not to let so much regret seep in by telling myself there is no point.
It’s been 4 years. It should be easier.
It isn’t, by the way.