That's the number of days since I last got to talk to my father. It's the number of days since I was able to hold his hand. It's the number of days I have missed him since he died. It's the number of days I have wished that I could talk to him again, see him again, hear his stories again, get his opinion on something, watch him paint or just walk into the room and see him reading a book.
It's been two years and for the most part it is a little easier. I was blessed to be able to spend the last few months helping care for him as his health declined. I was blessed that he was able to function pretty well until the last week.
(This is two weeks before he died)
My Dad was a good man. He left me with many gifts, many of which I never appreciate until after he died.
The past two years have been a struggle for my whole family. I know that I am grateful for my Mom's and my ability to share how we feel about missing Dad without thinking anyone will think we are just holding on to the past. I'm grateful for the support that my sister has given me over the past couple of years. She has been accepting and generous beyond belief and has always been a good distraction for me when I needed it. I am grateful that my brothers have been able share their homes and families with me when asked. I am grateful that my nieces and nephews had the opportunity to know their Grandfather. I wish they could know him some more. He loved each and every one of them. I hope that in some ways, I can fill in some of the blanks for my nieces and nephews when they have questions.
I know that each year this day will be a little less painful but for now it's not.
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