It doesn't seem possible, and yet here it is: the third anniversary of my dad's death.
What a stark word that is... third. The first year was bemusing and focused on carrying on. The second year knocked the stuffing out of us and really was about coping and figuring out who we were without him. This third year has been cruel in its undeniable reality... and yet consoling in showing us our life does continue, and it is good. Life is good. It has been altered in a way I never would have chosen, and yet I can't overlook the fact that it is good.
I miss him every day, but I'm not sad every day. I am crying right now because I was writing a card for my mom, who will shortly be returning home from her Christmas visit here in Sohoe. That's when the realization hit: three; third; real. I'm going to allow myself to feel sad today, but then it's time to get on with it again. I want to have wonderful things to tell him when I see him again.
I know there are others who have lost loved ones recently. It's not easy, especially at this time of year. My heart goes out to you.
A previous post about grief