November 17, 2015

My daddy passed away. I can’t believe I’m saying it. I don’t believe it even though I said it. He’s supposed to be sitting in his chair blowing my phone up. I’ve seen him walking in the back yard. I can hear him cough and sneeze. I’m never gonna see him again. He’s not here to pick on me or annoy me with his opinions. I’d give anything to have him here when I get married. Ugh, marriage. He’ll never have a chance to see who I marry, or walk me down the aisle. He won’t get to see his grandkids grow up. He didn’t even see any of them graduate kindergarten. Cameron won’t remember much; Dallas won’t remember anything at all. It’s not fair. I’m sad. I’m angry. I’m happy for him. He isn’t suffering anymore. He’s not getting confused or talking about the past. He has his mansion in heaven and we’re stuck here. I’m in shock. I’m in awe. I’m in denial. I am sick of humans. I’m tired of people asking how I’m doing. How do they expect me to be doing? How would they feel? They don’t know exactly how I feel. They haven’t lost MY dad. He drove me insane. He drove me crazy. I inherited his crazy. I also got his lack of patience. I inherited his ability to love people one second and be completely done with all of them the next and want to be alone. I got his fascination with death. I like reading obituaries and going to the cemeteries. I like knowing who is related to whom, and I will start a story and not finish it because I'm trying to explain who someone is. I can't even allow myself to think that any of this is real. It's just not right.