That’s right, not just a roundhouse kick, not just a roundhouse kick to the face, but a Chuck Norris roundhouse kick to the face. The last few weeks for me have been to say the least, eventful. I am more than ready for the semester to be over. Assignments seem to be looming up before me. I applied and did not obtain a job that I had hoped for, and work seems to get more stressful by the day. Just in case anyone asks, no I don’t want to help you, no I don’t want to show you how to look up that article, and really your pride at being a second semester senior and not having set foot in a library does not impress me. (On that note I can’t help but think that second semester senior may be getting ready to be a second year senior, but that is just my opinion.)
In light of all this I talked to a friend of mine today. Her grandmother died. Wham. That set my rear on the floor, hard. Here I am complaining about all this little petty crap and a dear sweet girl will never again be able to hold her grandmother.
It was about this time of year, six years ago, that my father died. It was one of the hardest things I have ever gone through. He died in March and I didn’t really start to grieve for him until July. He was a strong man. Six foot four, and fiercely protective of his family, I knew that when the chips were down he was always there. He and I didn’t always see eye to eye, but in the last few months of his life, we finally made our peace. It was like having the dad I always needed.
When I was small my dad said that he would not die until he knew that my brother and I could take care of ourselves. When he died, I did not understand why he was gone. Didn’t he know that I still needed him? I was still his little girl. Who would walk me down the aisle? Who was going to be there when I had a bad day? Who was going to tell me what to do when something went wrong with my car? I felt so lost. I won’t lie, somedays I still do. It wasn’t until he was gone that I realized how much I desperetly needed him.
I dream about him sometimes. In it I always hug him. The first time I dreamt of him I hugged him at least three times. Growing up hugging my dad was not something you did. He had a job doing maintenence, and when he came home he was always too dirty. He didnt want us to get dirty. As we got older and he had left that job, it was hard to become accostomed to hugging him because for the last decade there were so many times when we couldn’t.
My father suffered from OCD. I can not imagine how hard that must of been for him. He worked at a job where germs were rampant, and yet he could not mentally stand the thought of them. Then when he came home, he felt like he couldn’t hold the most important things to him. But he did it. For a lot of years he did it. He made the sacrifice so that my brother and I could have a home, clothes, and food.
My dad died young. Yesterday would have been his 66th birthday. I miss him more than he will ever know. I go with my mom to put flowers on his grave. I know though, that he is not there. He is where I am, wherever I am. I have not seen him at all since he died. I thought maybe I would because he saw his mom. I do though sometimes smell his cologne and occasionally I will feel like someone is watching over me, protecting me. That’s him, I know it’s him. When I feel that way, all I can think is “I love you too, Dad”.
