TWO YEARS
You wake up and suddenly its two years later.
How did this happen?
Ask yourself something then wait for the answer. The answer never comes because it's not the sort of query that has a satisfactory response. You find yourself positing questions like this frequently. Especially nowadays when the weather fluctuates from high to low temperatures confusing you into checking your calendar for today's date.
The calendar confirms. Today is January 13th, two years to the day that my father passed away. It's no coincidence my writing has reflected his absence and the haunting return of him in my thoughts. It's that time of year. With this much perspective, with two years behind us, has anything change?
A lot of times, I think about what life would have been like if he had still been alive. I try and I try but ultimately I cannot comprehend it. This is a brain exercise beyond any semblance of reality. It's like imagining me with wings, you with gills, the world covered by polka-dotted waters. Life is as is and we've come to accept it. By not having something, we have something else.
As I sit and write this, the phone rings and I get a recorded message service from my local synagogue that an acquaintance’s mother has just passed away. The friend is two years younger than I am. He's exactly where I was on January 13th 2003. I can't comprehend going through this now. With the whole experience in hindsight, I feel like a war veteran who has survived with a few unhealable wounds. Yes, I tell myself, we made it though, we've lived through this. How hard it was to see that I had that potential. I distinctly remember thinking in that unprecedented cold January night that I couldn't wait until time had passed and showed me how to deal with all of this. I clearly remember wishing that it would be two years from then.
Well, now it is indeed those two years have passed. The sand in the hourglass analogy makes a great deal of sense to me. Grain by grain, I cannot fathom the subtlety of passing days. The pain is permament and sub-surface like a potent after taste. It's not a deep profound sadness as it is a bittersweet nostalgia. I recall all the years, days and months I shared with dad and I miss them. Moreover, it feels weird to realize that I've also learned to live these two years without them. I stop to think--to comprehend--that two years have passed.
Seven hundred and thirty days.
Seventeen thousand five hundred and twenty hours.
Where did they all go?
I have no idea. I don't have the answer. I thought I already told you that.
You wake up and suddenly its two years later.
How did this happen?
Ask yourself something then wait for the answer. The answer never comes because it's not the sort of query that has a satisfactory response. You find yourself positing questions like this frequently. Especially nowadays when the weather fluctuates from high to low temperatures confusing you into checking your calendar for today's date.
The calendar confirms. Today is January 13th, two years to the day that my father passed away. It's no coincidence my writing has reflected his absence and the haunting return of him in my thoughts. It's that time of year. With this much perspective, with two years behind us, has anything change?
A lot of times, I think about what life would have been like if he had still been alive. I try and I try but ultimately I cannot comprehend it. This is a brain exercise beyond any semblance of reality. It's like imagining me with wings, you with gills, the world covered by polka-dotted waters. Life is as is and we've come to accept it. By not having something, we have something else.
As I sit and write this, the phone rings and I get a recorded message service from my local synagogue that an acquaintance’s mother has just passed away. The friend is two years younger than I am. He's exactly where I was on January 13th 2003. I can't comprehend going through this now. With the whole experience in hindsight, I feel like a war veteran who has survived with a few unhealable wounds. Yes, I tell myself, we made it though, we've lived through this. How hard it was to see that I had that potential. I distinctly remember thinking in that unprecedented cold January night that I couldn't wait until time had passed and showed me how to deal with all of this. I clearly remember wishing that it would be two years from then.
Well, now it is indeed those two years have passed. The sand in the hourglass analogy makes a great deal of sense to me. Grain by grain, I cannot fathom the subtlety of passing days. The pain is permament and sub-surface like a potent after taste. It's not a deep profound sadness as it is a bittersweet nostalgia. I recall all the years, days and months I shared with dad and I miss them. Moreover, it feels weird to realize that I've also learned to live these two years without them. I stop to think--to comprehend--that two years have passed.
Seven hundred and thirty days.
Seventeen thousand five hundred and twenty hours.
Where did they all go?
I have no idea. I don't have the answer. I thought I already told you that.
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