I had a conversation with my dad last night. One-sided, as you might expect, since he left this world almost 21 years ago. I haven’t done that in a long time. I would speak with him often when he first passed, doing all those things one does in the midst of grief and denial and coming to terms with loss.
The ups and downs of my life (if you read my words regularly, you know what this refers to and I have no intention of making this a marriage failure post) bring about these periods of sadness and questioning and the ups and downs have been running at full speed lately. You can always tell when the downs are winning because I don’t write much here. I refuse to, in fact. You are all my friends, but I never want this place to be one where you give a cursory ‘like’ to a post yet can’t bring yourself to read it because it’s another story of indecision and complaining and so on.
So, when I went to bed last night, trying to turn off my brain, and being very unsuccessful (note to DB…I think I sorta borrowed, and adapted, your bedtime routine tactics for elusive sleep) when the self-guided relaxation didn’t work, I decided that I’d ramble and whine a bit with (to) my dad.
He didn’t answer, but he listened and that’s what I expected. I know he can’t tell me what I should do. He might have, at some point when he was alive, but now he just sits patiently and listens. It’s funny how he never ages, always just sits quietly in his faded jeans and plaid flannel shirt, listening.
I miss him, a lot. I’m glad he was free last night, and willing to spend some time with me. Thanks dad.