six.

thats how many months its been since my dad took his last breath. the amount of time that’s passed since that awful fucking weekend of waiting and crying and middle of the night phone calls. feels like six days ago, sometimes six hours. sometimes, longer.

rationally, i’ve known that this wasn’t the worst case scenario for my dad, like it was for those of us he left behind. my rational brain knows that we all die, and that my father suffering isn’t fair. emotionally? this is some god damned bullshit and i can’t wrap my head around it. i’m getting better about it, but …

i make a lot – really, ask my coworkers! – of dead dad jokes and references – most of the time they are pretty funny and i know that as tasteless as some think they are, my dad would laugh. and thats what makes me sad; that ill never hear him laugh again. he’ll never leave me another message sharing a joke, he’ll never talk in funny voices or say something goofy or hilariously inappropriate.

i have a voicemail where he tells me a total ”dad joke” and i listen to it at least once a week, sometimes i close my eyes while i listen so its like we’re in the same room. i don’t crack jokes because i think dead parents are funny. i mean, my dead dad was funny …

ya know how people say ”if i don’t laugh, i’ll cry”? its like that.

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