Eight months

Today marks the eight month anniversary since my father died. I believe it is the first time since his death that the day has fallen on a Tuesday, the actual night of his death. As with the other months I find myself wishing I could turn back time and go back to last year before he died. I would savor the moments more deeply, memorize every moment so that when we lost him June I would have more to hold dear.
Missing my father has gotten no less painful. There is never a day that goes by when I can stop myself from crying. Sometimes it is just a sniffle or two and other times I have to stop what I am doing and let loose.
Despite our grieving, my mother and I are making some steps towards progess. We are planning to meet with the man who was the first person on the scene when my dad collapsed. Apparently he is an EMT or some such thing. I am not sure if it is some sort of sick need, but I want to hear about those last few minutes. If my dad had been involved in a shooting or something like that, I don’t think I would want to know. But an afternoon bike ride followed by a collapse? I do want to know. We are also starting to venture outside of the house a bit more and are growing used to the fact that my dad is not coming home. And we are making plans for upcoming adventures. So although it is not a house full of 24/7 parties, it’s still a pretty good place to be.