Some people wonder why I would post about such personal topics on such an impersonal place, but writing is therapeutic, and sharing it with the faceless world, though knowing that this will be read and aknowledged by at least a few people makes me feel better. That being said, if you don't feel comfortable reading about my dealings with death and all of that darkness that comes with it, then I would encourage you to stop reading.
I am making some small progress with concern to my father's passing. There is still so much pain that comes with this, I wonder how it will pass. Its true that I've only recently started to aknowledge the fact of his death, so maybe this is all what is supposed to happen. You would think after 12 years, I would stop whining about it, but I feel like I am just starting. I have this insatiable hunger for every little scrap of memory people have about him, but seem so shy about sharing. Noone wants to talk about my father, except for the general stuff like that he was the life of the party, what a great guy he was, how much he is missed, and how much I look like him. I know all this. When I ask you to tell me about him, I want you to tell me little things that seem so important. What was his favorite color? His favortie food? Did he like going to Church, did he struggle with faith like I am? Was his asthma as bad as mine? All these trivial things that I will never know unless someone tells me. I want to know him, because I dont know anything about him.
I just learnt a few days ago that he listened to this record on repeat many many times when he was my age. Which is funny because I had listened to this band many times before without knowing why I liked it so much, and chalked it up to me liking weird obscure people noone knew. And after randomly posting it in Facebook, one of his childhood friends admitted to me that my father was in love with them when they came out. She wouldnt tell me anything else, but it was still a little bit more about him than I knew before. So now I listen to this on repeat and feel a little closer to him. I want to go this summer to his burial site, bring two beers (although I hate beer, I know that he loved it) and I will blast this record and share a drink with my father, and maybe I will heal just a little more. A little at a time.