One Month 4/21/22

It's been one month since you left us. One month. It seems so short but so long at the same time. I'll never forget the call, the scene, the tears, the disbelief. I'll never understand how you didn't know how damn much you'd be missed. Since I got the call, "damn it Daddy" has been what I can't stop saying. A month later, I'm still saying it. Mostly it's damn it, I miss you, but over all, just damn it.

I drive down the road and wait to meet you. It's strange because I could go weeks without actually seeing you, but knowing that you were here or driving by to check on us made me feel better. Now, I look out the window and expect to see you driving by to see the progress of the barn (currently, there's still none).

Grief is a funny thing, because I can be ok, but then I see something that makes me think of you and I realize that you're gone. I've realized just how small my world feels without you here, though you hated leaving the county. Roads make me think of you, make me wish I'd have turned right one more time to see you when I was passing through.

If I'd have known the last time was the last time, I'd have held onto that hug a little longer. Your hugs were the best. Damn I miss those.

I'm still not mad, I'm not sure I'll ever be. I just miss you. I miss the comfort that just knowing you were here brought. I still don't understand why you thought this was the only way, but I know that's what you thought.

I think of all the big things we have coming up and how big your absence will be. I try to imagine how we're going to make those days happy knowing you're not there. We will, but it's definitely not going to be the same. I guess I'll step up my game on talking about how much I hate the drive to whichever location we're at just to bring a little bit of you to life, but I'm afraid that'll just make us miss you more.

I keep saying that I'm ok because I've accepted the fact that I'm always going to miss you. That part's true, I'm always going to miss you. Being ok is a new kind of ok. My girls are still learning to deal with you not being here, and that makes my "ok" a little harder. My life will always have a hole. Their lives will always have a hole. They say time heals things. I'm not sure it heals, but it mends. We'll mend, but there's a gap that will never close.

Suicide sucks. Addiction sucks. I will use losing you, forever going forward, to let others know that there is hope. As much as you'd hate me sharing your story, your story is our story, and good will come from it. One month later, one year, one decade, one more lifetime, our story will bring light out of the darkness.