It's been two years since November 27, 2021--the day my Dad took his last breaths and left us. My world changed that day.
And it's been almost two months since October 7, 2023--the day so many took their last breaths and left us.
I feel...numb? I miss my Dad all the time. I miss him like crazy. I missed him today when I went to Costco, and I even missed him when the raspberries fell out of the car, spilling all over the floor, and I know he would have been as upset as I was. I miss him when I eat soup. He loved soup. And when I try to figure out what to do with our lives, knowing his advice would have been both wise and kind. I miss him when I go for walks, and when I read an interesting article. I miss him when my kids are hilarious and he would have smiled so big. He was my Dad. And also, my buddy. I liked him as much as I adored him. I loved being with him, talking, not talking, doing, or not doing anything. I just loved him, so, so much.
He was also 73--not nearly old enough, and not tragically young. And we knew he was dying. And we got to say goodbye. And, and, and. So many blessings in his end. So much love. So many blessings others were denied when they were murdered.
I feel like I am juggling fire. My soul is screaming WHERE ARE THE REDHEADED BABIES WHO LOOK LIKE MY BABIES and at the same time I MISS MY DAD and it's hard to swallow both of those thoughts.
It doesn't hurt anyone for me to miss my Dad, but some part of me feels guilt for it. Because our babies are missing, and there are nearly 200 hostages and as he always used to say "there but for fortune..." my babies and I would have been among them.
I know how lucky I am. And I know how sad I am. And today, those are the truths I guess I am trying to hold.
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