Grief comes in waves. I know this because I experience it. Some days I go about my life and end up just fine. And other days, like today, I find it hard to think without the grief taking over. I've been thinking about my dad a lot lately, and today ventured over to his blog to see what was going on. Not that I expected to find a new post, but I miss connecting with his readers like I did those few weeks in Georgia. I'd like to keep it updated, but I don't honestly know what to say, so I asked them to fill me in. I received several emails from dad's faithful readers, and as I opened them, I allowed the pain to seep in and the tears to flow. I guess I just really miss him, and still can't believe that he's gone. I was there. I saw him lying lifeless in that hospital bed and I still can't seem to wrap my mind around the fact that my dad is gone. So tonight I am struggling to even regain my composure, not like I have to since I'm already snuggled down into bed.
A fellow Warrior, Manual, called Dad his muse and since his passing has struggled with the inspiration to write in his own blog (where he chronicles his battle with kidney cancer). I get that. I write because my dad flat out told me to. How can I betray that? And someday soon I hope to pursue a dream to become a professional writer, again because my dad told me to (or maybe it was that he gave me permission to.) Either way, I've found passion in writing, and I just wish my dad were here so I could say, "thank you." "Thank you for giving me a swift kick in the arse." I still remember it clear as day. He looked up at me from his bed and said, "You're good. If you want to write, then write. Stop piddling around." It seems like such common sense, right? But it wasn't the words that were spoken, but the man who was speaking them. It was the affirmation I needed. If David Foster thinks you have talent, then maybe, just maybe, you have a foundation to build on. And how much more does that mean when David Foster is your dad?
The more time that passes, the more I miss him. Is that really possible? I thought grief would fade in time. That doesn't seem to be the case. Of course, maybe time is not the issue. It could be a lack of dealing in reality. I've had my share of distractions lately. This is true. So for now, I'll just let the tears come when they choose, and in those moments, I'll write - for that is what he would have wanted me to do (except minus all the mushy stuff).
Thanks for tuning in and listening to my rants - which are more like therapy.
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