I've been overusing the word bittersweet in my mind this past week. It's mostly because I'm not talking to too many people and because I also don't want to sound like a douche bag (spoiler alert: I have adopted a sailor's vocabulary so I apologize now). In any case, life is bittersweet in so many ways. On the "eve" of the bird's debut, I lost a piece of my heart. I was expecting an explosion of happiness and instead just got the explosion. I was waiting to meet true love and rather have been reminded what a bastard heartbreak can be.
Needless to say, it's been rough to face the reality of my dad's death and the timing of the bird's birth (which now seems to be put on hold indefinitely perhaps). I can't get past the feeling that, in some ways, I have to let go of one to welcome the other.
Rather, I want to just sit and post photos of him and find pieces of memories to tie down his spirit. I want to memorialize how it felt to hold his hand at different ages: as a young kid with just room in my palm for his pointer finger all the way to being a bride arm and arm with a friend who was so excited for me. I want it all back. I want to go on the ride again. I want to write about how beautiful it is to remember a man who gave me so much. I want to write about how comforting it is to have my sister's to share the "knowing" of what luck we had in this father and what pain we feel in the wake of his absence. In the same breath, I want to keep it all for myself like some treasure I am too stingy to share for fear it will be stolen away. Nothing will be enough: no tribute, no words, no photos will ever encompass the time we had together. It will all be fragmented from this point forward.
In any case, even a new entry feels too soon. And in many ways, I know this is what needs to be done. There is no sense to be made from this: it was just a beautiful thing that now feels so bittersweet.
Needless to say, it's been rough to face the reality of my dad's death and the timing of the bird's birth (which now seems to be put on hold indefinitely perhaps). I can't get past the feeling that, in some ways, I have to let go of one to welcome the other.
Rather, I want to just sit and post photos of him and find pieces of memories to tie down his spirit. I want to memorialize how it felt to hold his hand at different ages: as a young kid with just room in my palm for his pointer finger all the way to being a bride arm and arm with a friend who was so excited for me. I want it all back. I want to go on the ride again. I want to write about how beautiful it is to remember a man who gave me so much. I want to write about how comforting it is to have my sister's to share the "knowing" of what luck we had in this father and what pain we feel in the wake of his absence. In the same breath, I want to keep it all for myself like some treasure I am too stingy to share for fear it will be stolen away. Nothing will be enough: no tribute, no words, no photos will ever encompass the time we had together. It will all be fragmented from this point forward.
In any case, even a new entry feels too soon. And in many ways, I know this is what needs to be done. There is no sense to be made from this: it was just a beautiful thing that now feels so bittersweet.