I hear Raymond talking on the phone. It doesn’t sound good… This is bad. This is really bad. I can’t listen to this. I just can’t.
I run upstairs to our bedroom. Just let me go. Please don’t follow me. Don’t tell me what you just heard. Just don’t. I need to walk. Keep moving as if nothing is wrong.
This is not happening.
This is not true.
Not now please.
It’s too soon.
It’s way too soon.
There he is. Ready to tell me…
But I already know. I can feel it. I just know…
“Laris, dad is… he’s dead…”
This was us, two years ago. Even around this exact time….
I can clearly remember that night. Jiro was in bed, and the two of us were watching a movie. A movie of which we were making fun, because “there’s so many people dying in this movie, it’s insane!”.
Oh hi, Braxton hicks contractions at 25 weeks. Oh hi to you too, depression and c-ptsd.
Exactly 2 years ago everything was so different.
How we all have grown through it. How we all have learned from it. How we all survived it. And how we all thrive… despite of it.
The 8th will always be a sad date. But today was also a gorgeous sunny day. Exactly what my dad would have noticed about today. Because, a sunny day it was…. It really was!
To my dearest dad,
I love you.
I miss you.