Yesterday, it was six months since my dad died. Thoughts of him still fill my mind--memories, conversations, his smile, his laughter, his music, his hugs and kisses; remembering his decline, his death. Feeling both glad and sad.
Christmas was hard, and not hard. Hard because of course I missed him and wished he was there. It felt funny that he wasn't there. It seemed wrong--but I guess it's just different. I want things to stay the same, but they can't, they don't, they won't. Not hard, because I was able to see how much of himself he left behind--in the music we all share, in the pictures he took, in the love he passed on to us, even in our family resemblance.