My grief lies all within,
And these external manners of lament
Are merely shadows to the unseen grief
That swells with silence in the tortured soul
-William Shakespeare
It wasn’t easy to get to the cemetery today. The road was closed. I parked at the end of it and walked up alone, carrying the flower, sinking in snow up to my knees, the wind blowing in my face. I left that one yellow flower there, sitting on a foot of snow.
My father has been dead for 18 years now. 18 years… that’s over two-thirds of my life.
I feel cheated. Out of a father, out of a childhood, out of security. Every day I wonder if today is the day my husband won’t make it home. I hate that. It is so hard for me to get close to people – I’ve just lost so many people in my life. I’m so ANGRY still. Angry that my father doesn’t know me. When he died I wasn’t even a fragment of who I am now. I’m angry that he doesn’t know my children, that my children won’t know him. I’m angry that he left me with just my mother. I’m angry sometimes that other people take their parents (and their children, their friends, family, etc.) for granted, not realizing how quickly it can be taken away.
