I used to pray, that my father live to see my wedding. I calculated the extra years he'd need, to make it, to be there. For getting married is entering a new stage, a new phase; I wanted him to see me at it, see me reach it, see me grown up. I wanted him to be pleased, and proud.
But some things are not to be. He hasn't been around for a while, my dad. And even if he had been, so far he wouldn't have gotten to see that day.I'm still in the same stage I was then; same family status, same title before my name. Nothing's changed.
Yet it has. I may not be a married woman, but I have grown up, nonetheless.
I come home from work and run for my slippers and sweatshirt, rush to shed the constraining clothes of the day. He used to do the same. I thought it was funny, amusing, then.
I attend the Shiurs that he used to love, that I used to find boring. I enjoy them now.
I read his favorite books and columns. I appreciate his taste. I wish we could discuss them together.
I think of phrases he said, actions he followed. I see the wisdom, now. I understand, now.
There's so much we could have talked about, so much we could have shared. I would have understood him better, for I'm older now. Our whole relationship could have matured, developed. It would have made him happy, would have made him proud.
It's not only my wedding that he's going to miss. It's my adult life, which has already begun.
God let me have him all through my school years, he let me have a father growing up. I'm grateful.
"At least I'm not growing up an orphan" I said, at seventeen. "I'm an adult now. I can manage."
It is true, in a way. But as time passes, as life deepens and broadens, I'm grasping what I'm missing; a real relationship with him, an adult relationship.
Loss is supposed to get easier, when time goes by. And it does. Whole days go by where I don't even think of him, don't even look at his picture on my shelf.
Yet a part of me gets sadder. It's been longer without him, he's missing out on more of our lives. There is more and more that he's never going to see. The moments pile up, that I can't share with him.
I suppose that is what it means to lose somebody, in the simplest sense. He's gone, and in all the years that follow, through all the moments and events, he's not there. He's missing.
I almost didn't post this. I decided to in the end, because it's for all of you out there who are also missing someone.
4 days ago