it would be so great

i was in my littlest sister's room recently and came upon a handmade book with a photocopy of our dad's picture on a funeral card. The book was titled something like "My Book about My Dad" and I assume that her therapist made it with her. In J's handwriting, it says, "Private! Do Not Open!" Heeding her order could have saved me tons of tears because inside, each day has a place for her to write and draw a picture and it is filled with things like this:


Please please please please please please please please please please please please please please come back. The accompanying drawing is a stairway going to the sky and one person near the top of the stairs and another crying person at the bottom.

Each entry continues with the same sort of heart wrenching theme. The last one says:

Dear Dad, I wish so hard you could come back. Because if you could, it would be so great. I love you.

Tomorrow is the one-year marker of my Dad dying. I never thought I'd bear one day without him and the passing of a year, rather than being a comfort, feels something like mockery. It makes me want to shout about fairness and how time doesn’t heal all wounds. Life without Dad feels less safe, less grounded, less protected, less guided, less fun, and less loved. I wish that we had some sort of tradition to mark the day -- I've been reading up on different cultures' traditions for marking this day. Having something that everyone recognized would be a comfort. Some kind of cultural 'this is how we do this undoable thing.' It’s funny because prior to this experience, I thought ‘Why mark a date of death? Wouldn’t it be better to celebrate their life on a birthday?’ Only my very body remembers what this weather and time of year brought. The ending blows of winter bring back the hospital, hospice, and loss. Whether I mark it or not, I will always remember. And I will always miss my Dad.