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Three years
Yesterday was the third anniversary of my father's death. I can't believe it's been three years already. So much has changed in those three years, it's amazing.
It's so surreal to think that three years ago, my brother and I were looking through a catalog of coffins to find one to bury my father in. A catalog. More like a binder, really. The funeral home director is a family friend and she was extra nice about everything, but it was still the most bizarre and surreal experience ever, trying to find a casket that would suit my father's taste and personality, even though he was dead.
Sometimes I still get the urge to call him. He hasn't been listed in my cell phone for a really long time, but the idea just comes to me out of nowhere sometimes, which makes sense because I tended to call him at random about this or that.
I still can't believe he will never ever ever get to spend time with my daughter.
It's so surreal to think that three years ago, my brother and I were looking through a catalog of coffins to find one to bury my father in. A catalog. More like a binder, really. The funeral home director is a family friend and she was extra nice about everything, but it was still the most bizarre and surreal experience ever, trying to find a casket that would suit my father's taste and personality, even though he was dead.
Sometimes I still get the urge to call him. He hasn't been listed in my cell phone for a really long time, but the idea just comes to me out of nowhere sometimes, which makes sense because I tended to call him at random about this or that.
I still can't believe he will never ever ever get to spend time with my daughter.