Been trying to decide all day how to write this, because I knew this was coming.
I don’t know where to start, because I’ve been ambivalent all day. So, maybe I’ll just lean-in to the mixed emotions about the thirty-seventh year of my father’s passing.
The week prior to his death, I left with my best friend’s family on their vacation to Roserito, Baja California, Mexico. Even though I was living in a beach town in California, Roserito seemed wildly different. Some memories are still vivid nearly 40 years later.
My father passed on the day I got back from that vacation. I’m not going into details other than the circumstances of his death sadden me when I really think about the details. So, I try not to. I don’t really speak to my mother about it either.
Now, whenever my daughter goes away foe an extended period of time, I can’t help but think of that time. What if something happened to me on the day when she came back, after not seeing me. It’s a hangup that I’m trying to get over as she’s starting college soon.
The last time I sat down and wrote about his passing was years ago, and it was a more positive message. I’m not sure why this was difficult to put together. Maybe time doesn’t heal all wounds.
