Dear Dad

July is an awful month. It didn't used to be.

Mom is dating now. I am horrified and relieved. I wish the 'relieved' outweighed the 'horrified,' but it doesn't.

It turns out that being a logical person doesn't help at all with grief. Grief is an inherently illogical process. So while I know I should be supportive and happy for her, what I've got is 'horrified.'

And truthfully, the horrified is less about the What and more about the Who. This guy is old. Older than dirt. Grandpa's age. I can't wrap my head around it. Even if they're just friends, it's just for companionship, I can't figure it out. All they have in common is a dead spouse. Maybe that's enough.

I find, though, that I can't be happy about it. I mean, I'm happy that she's getting out, that she's making plans, that she's trying to live her life. Then I think, how much living can she be doing because this guy is 3/4 in the grave himself?

Next week it will be two years since you're gone. It feels like yesterday. It feels like a lifetime.

I wonder sometimes if you'd recognize the person I am now. Sometimes I don't recognize myself. I wonder if I'm doing the right things. I wish I could be better.

I wish I'd realized that logic wouldn't help. I tried to keep things together so well during your last months. I hope I was successful. I hope I wasn't being distant. I hope I was giving you what you needed. I worry about that sometimes.

I keep thinking that I'm not being strong for them, like you asked. Sometimes I think being strong for them will cripple me. I don't admit that to anyone. I barely admit it to myself, most days.

I love you, Dad, and wish you were here. I'm going to send these letters out to the idea of you because I don't know what else to do with them and keeping quiet isn't helping.

I miss you every day.

Love,
Sarah