Saturday, June 18, 2011

Five Years

Dear Dad,

It has been 5 years without you today. 5 years and 1 day since I talked to you. 5 years and 3 days since I saw you.

Five years seems like such a huge amount of time. Half a decade, almost a sixth of my life, about one fifth of Katelyn's life. But that amount of time is only going to get bigger. One day it will be a quarter of my life, half my life, etc.

There is a big part of me that is heart broken, but today I came to another realization. I am still here, I am still breathing, I am getting on with my life, I am over the fighting with Mom and Katelyn that happened after you left. I will never stop morning you, but I have been able to move past the debilitating pain that I went through 5 years ago.

The first six months that you were gone I ate until my mouth hurt, I drank until I blacked out, I was a total bitch to everyone close to me, I cried constantly and I totally sabotaged my position at NPMA by letting my work slide and frequently not showing up. It was a dark time. There were moments when I didn't know if I would get through it. But here I am.

I don't know what broke me out of the dangerous spiral that I was headed down. Maybe getting pregnant with Peter, maybe Brett sticking by me, maybe Mom forcing me to go to therapy, maybe all of these things combined.

This morning I wanted to post a picture of us together online and realized that I only had a few out in my house. This was shocking to me. When Brett and I got married I remember him telling me that he had accepted the fact that he might have to live in a "shrine of my father" for the rest of his life.

Some how the shrine has disappeared. There are still plenty of photos, but our home no longer looks like a funeral home of displays where I tried to capture your life and hold on to it. I have even gotten rid of all but one of your hockey trophies.

There is an odd sense of guilt and pride associated with moving on. I am so proud to be where I am in my morning, to be so close to my sister and talking to her more and more about our pain, and to get through (most) days without crying. But I also feel so guilty that I was able to move on. Does it mean I stopped caring? Started forgetting? I hope not.

Here was my favorite picture of us in the house:

It is from July 13, 2004 - my 22nd birthday party at eCiti. I had so much fun that night, and remember being so happy that you and mom were there. It was the second to last birthday I would celebrate with you, as you passed away 1 month before my 24th.

When I look at this photo I cannot believe how young I look. Just another reminder of how much time has past. Of how far I have come. Without you. More pride, more guilt, but here I am getting through it.

Still missing you.

I love you,
Jill