I seriously feel so freaking whiney with these posts about my dad from time to time. I know that death is a part of life and that almost everyone deals with their loved ones dying, but for me I feel like I'm the only one a lot of the time. I always think, "how could anyone ever understand that sadness I feel?" Even with conversations with my husband... sometimes I think to myself, "at least your dad is still alive" when he says he misses his own father. I know it's wrong, but I still do it. I must be incredibly self centered.
Without a DOUBT I know that something in me completely and erratically changed watching my dad suffer and then die of colon cancer. I have never been the same. It has really affected the relationships I have and even for a time had me looking at my son differently (for a little while there I used his age as a marker for how long my dad had died - he's 3 and dad died when he was 3 months old... every time Wyatt hits another year I think to myself, my dad has been gone for X number of years). I am happy in my life, but I'm also very unhappy. Isn't that kinda stupid? There are obvious things that are wonderful, but an annoying splinter keeps my finger throbbing. That's probably the best way I can describe it.