I’m slipping again. Back to break downs in the middle of the day while on an errand. Back to negotiating with God and Josh asking to just take it all back. I was talking to my therapist yesterday about that deterioration and how, it’s like, if I can just figure out a way to fix it before the one year anniversary, we can pretend like none of it ever happened. It can go back to the way it was. Its some portal that will close if I cant solve the mystery by November 26th. Sometimes, I am sitting there and thinking about memories. Him. He and Isla. Us. It seems so long ago. But then in the next breath I think, “He’s not here anymore. Really? I’m not just daydreaming? I will never get to talk to him again? At least not in the traditional sense. I never get to cuddle up in his arms, throw my legs over his lap and just nuzzle against his scruffy face while he holds my hand and tries to see if he can crack my knuckles quick before I can rip my hands out of his grip and hit him. (I hate that.) Every good thought is followed by the depressing realization. Isla’s family birthday party is this weekend, so after picking some things up for it over lunch, I flash back to last year’s birthday party: “Josh, should she wear a dress?” “No, put her in her skinny jeans and her Marvin Harrison jersey!” Daddy knows best. During the party, someone in the family commented on her outfit and asked Josh where his jersey was, since he wasn’t wearing it. Kate Butt! Where is that?” I had no idea. He came down the stairs a little bit later and had found it, in a wrinkled mess on our closet floor, and threw it on over the shirt he had already been wearing, so he could matching his baby girl. He couldn’t have been more proud. In the next second, I’m saying to him as I drive down the road, “You’re the best daddy.” Then I laugh and think, “Okay, you’re mediocre because you push your daughter off your lap if she gets in the way of your video games. But you love her more than anything and she feels the exact same way about you.” Immediately, the negative thoughts pour into my head. I am suddenly recalling his wake. My parents driving me up to the church, and dropping me at the door so I could run in as fast as I could. I hadn’t seen him in three days. I just wanted to see him. Touch him. Kiss him. Hold him. It still doesn’t seem real. As the evening wore on that night, Isla spotted him. “There’s my daddy! Daddy’s sleeping.” I brought her to see him every time she asked. Every time she wanted to wake him up. So did I. SO DO I. https://m.youtube/watch?v=QStvUTRPoTA
Posted on: Thu, 16 Oct 2014 18:21:45 +0000
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