I have been wondering a great deal lately whether always thinking about how I'm not always thinking about my father is comparable to always thinking about him.
It's been nearly three months since he passed away. Am I allowed to preoccupy myself again with minutiae? Or should I be constantly focusing on his absence?
My sanity says "minutiae." But my nostalgia says "absence." I like my nostalgia better. We have all those shared memories together.
Then:
It's OK, you will say to me. Go see a movie. Read a book. Look at stuff.
Hmmm, I'm not sure if I am ready for that, I could say back.
So, do what you're comfortable with, you say.
I'm not sure you get it. I'm pretty confused. I don't know anymore what's appropriate and what's inappropriate?
Not sure there. You're on your own.
I know, I say. That's seems to be the theme in times like this.

Epiphany: But maybe this is all not an issue of being comfortable. Maybe things are no longer "comfortable." They may never even get "comfortable." Perhaps I just need to get used to them being uncomfortable.

The most difficult aspect of this whole mourning process is that there is no specific point or date for anything. It's not like a carton of milk. It's far from being a carton of milk, skim or whole or two-percent.
And lest you think that the calendar tells you, oh, this is the day you get back into the swing of normalcy. This is Comfortable Day--It doesn't.
Because the calendar doesn't tell you these things. It just tells you that there is a day. Not what to do with it.
So, tomorrow, I wake up, still shaky on the whole this-feels-right/this-doesn't-feel-right platform.
And I may not think about my dad first thing in the morning--which hurts me. But one thing is for sure--minutes later after I brush my teeth, wash my face and get dressed, I'll remember that I hadn't yet, that morning, thought about him. And then I'll spend the next couple of hours wondering why I wasn't.