I don’t know when periods come back after birth. I have a feeling I’m PMS. Because I have no other way to explain how fragile I feel right now. It’s not normal. I look at the people I love, and I swear to God, I think, "You’re going to die one day. You need to know how important you are, how much I love you, how I don’t want to ever lose you." I’m thinking these things, dead thoughts about the living.
I tried walking down our driveway, just to put some outgoing snail mail in our box, and I cried. "It’s sunny now. It’s a gorgeous day. If my father were still here, he’d walk with us later. We could all go for a walk together." He’s on his way back to New York. And it kills me. I can’t stop crying.
"If it were me crying," Phil says, "you’d roll your eyes and tell me I’m a mamma’s boy." And he’s a little bit right about that. What is wrong with me? (For once, don’t fucking answer that) I wish he were still here. I wish they were closer. I wish I didn’t take life as seriously as I am today. I know it will get easier, which in its own way makes me sad too.
I hate feeling this fragile and needy. "You need another hug, don’t you?" Phil asks. And I just start crying, shaking my head "yes." I feel like someone has died, but I’m alive with chances to tell them exactly how I feel. Now that I have children, I realize there’s a next generation, and with that comes grandparents, and grandparents get old. Grandparents die. And that frightens me, this life without my father. I don’t know how people bear it. How you lose your best friend, the one who knows you better than anyone else in the world and validates your choices in it. And I know one day, when he’s no longer alive, I will think these same things, "how I wish you were here with me." And I’ll imagine he’s watching over us, there on our walk, telling his jokes, and loving his family.