He’d be 82
It woulda been my dad’s 82nd birthday this week.
The saddest, most unnerving thing about losing a parent is that you always think that you can pick up the phone and call them. But you can’t.
A cousin I was super close with lost his dad this week too. Another uncle from my dad’s generation, gone.
It’s tough. That cousin and I used to talk all the time but we lost touch after Alison got sick. What can you say? What can you do?
Him: They told me that if I went to see him, I’d have to go to quarantine for 14 days. He wouldn’t last 14 days.
Me: So, what did you do?
Him: I asked them what would happen if I broke quarantine and they said I’d be fined $20,000USD and tossed in jail. I told them I was ok with that.
Being a father now, I understand my father in ways I never did when he was alive.
We fought so much when he was alive, but I never once doubted that he loved me and I don’t think he ever doubted that I loved him.
I’m sure the boy and I will fight, it’s what fathers and sons do. But I hope he knows I love him.
I wish I could have spoken to my dad as a father speaking to another father. That woulda been so cool.
That woulda been so fucking cool.
Me: I’d pay that. To see my dad again? I pay that in a heartbeat.
Location: my apartment, hunting heel hooks with her and two others
Music: the baggage in my heart is still so dark (Spotify)
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