Today is the 16th anniversary of my dad’s death. It usually doesn’t hit me as hard as my older sister but today is different. The day after Christmas he was taken away and I just can’t get over it. My older sister and I are drunk and she’s getting wasted while I sit in a corner of a bar, writing my pain away. We’re both drinking our pain away, but differently. I’m not comfortable with the way she’s handling it. It kind of worries me. I could never sit her down and tell her the way she handles this, is wrong. She’s 31. I can’t imagine the pain she feels. I’m 21. I barely knew my father. I have very little memories of him. He was her best friend. Sometimes I think I have it worse because I didn’t have the full experience of having a father figure. I don’t know how he sounds, how he laughs, how he dances, walks, eats, drinks, smokes. It hurts. She knew all of him. Which also makes me believe she had it worse. I don’t know. Today is weird.
I’m with my family at the bar and they were all made aware what today is from other family members. We never talk about it. We avoid it. My mom, my sisters, we do whatever to avoid the topic. Our family? No.
“Are you okay?”
”Do you need anything?”
”We’re here if you need anything.”
It’s very sweet. Very caring and considerate. I just never know what to say.
I guess it’s good to talk about. I should talk about it, which is why I’m here. Today is weird.