It's been just over six weeks since you died, Dad, and I'm starting to have moments, brief periods, where things feel slightly normal again. Where my consciousness isn't consumed by what happened, by the fact that you're gone.
And sometimes in these moments of normalcy when I am wrapped up in what I am doing, a voice will come into my head and say "your dad died, you know." And it just seems utterly absurd and untrue. And I think what are you talking about, that can't possibly have happened.
And I struggle to figure out how the fact of you being gone could somehow exist within my normalcy. I can't reconcile it. And eventually I will come to, snap out of it, and realize that I stopped whatever I was doing right in the middle of it and froze while I mentally struggled with this surreal realization.
I try to pull myself back into the present moment and it feels like fighting through thick sludge to get there, to come back, to be present in a reality while also understanding that this reality no longer includes you. It takes all of my strength and willpower to get through the sludge, like I'm running the last leg of a marathon.
And so is moving forward about constructing a new reality without you in it, or is it just about getting better at climbing through the sludge?
It's still not real. Just in flashes it is. I miss you, Dad.
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