By: Danny Thomas
it’s been over a month since I blogged
which is strange
usually I am prolific in the summer…
the summer makes me think.
and it makes me take my time.
and thinking, along with taking my time usually lead to writing…
but this summer has been full.
Not just of the usual summer stuff
not just sunblock
and fire works
and plastic backyard pools…
this summer my dad died.
it’s hard to write any words after those words.
it’s been hard to write any words at all.
from the time I started writing this blog, along with my wife, he has been who I write for.
I mean I write for anyone who’ll read it but
he is who is in my heart when I write.
I guess that won’t change.
I have A New Hole.
He was my hero.
I am glad and grateful all my girls met their granddad.
I am glad and grateful I was there when he died.
I am glad and grateful the worst parts of his illness were short
and quick and relatively comfortable.
I am glad and grateful circumstance allowed my family to be around him, together, when he died.
I am glad and grateful arrangements were more or less simple and reasonable…
I am glad and grateful that my dad and I spent the last several years really sharing openly with each other our mutual respect and admiration.
I am glad and grateful that all of these things help me to feel, on some level “okay”
There is a lot to be grateful for.
I have A New Hole.
A New Heartbreak.
A friend recently wrote, “Language is an inadequate method of communication to describe most of the human condition. I demand a more suitable replacement.”
As it turns out she was talking, to some degree, about child rearing, and specifically the emotional rollercoaster of sleep training… but, even without context, the statement works in the broadest sense.
It hit me.
There is, indeed, no language, no rendering of words, that can describe the strange emptiness and sadness I feel as a result of my dad dying, or the feeling I have of being okay with it.
Okay with the grief, okay with how it happened, the process…
okay with not being okay…
it doesn’t even make sense, hence; words fail.
I just have This Hole…
and I know little things… and big things…
are going to nudge that hole
off and on
for the rest of my life.
and that seems terribly sad.
and terribly right.
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Originally published on The Seattle Lesbian
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