Therapy

It’s been a while since I have written. The last thing I wrote was a eulogy for my dad, July 30. Hindsight is 20/20 and I now realize that I should have never stopped writing. 

The words are stuck somewhere between my thoughts and feelings. A deep sad place masked by a huge smile.  The words do not flow easily and seemingly not at all. But I need to write. I need to write to process, to cope, to digest. Where do I start? Do I start where I left off or do I start from this moment on?  

I remember the day of my last post so vividly. The pain I felt is now multiplied a million times. My dad is not here and it is not ok. 

It is not ok that he is in a better place. It is not ok that he he no longer suffers. It is not ok that he is in heaven. It is not ok that I get signs from him (often). It. Is. Not. O. K. 

I dream of him every night. Going to bed has become torture. The dreams are vivid and real and heartbreaking. I cry for him everyday. I cry because I got a tattoo when I was 20 and he forbid it. I cry because I was too shy to dance with him when I was 14. I cry because I didn’t go see him as often as I should have. I cry because I can still feel his hand rubbing my neck. I cry as I remember holding him in his final days. I cry remembering our last conversation. I cry and I cry and I cry. 

My heart is broken. 

In search of a way to heal I have decided to write. 

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