![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Nov. 1st, 2012 05:18 pmDear dead Dad:
I don't think about you as often, and when I do it hardly ever zings. Like the dentists drill that period of pain is a dull memory, one I cannot recall accurately. I still tell the same stories about you, though now I'm a bit more liberal with the bad ones and criticisms. It's rare now that I plot out my numbers and start to plan to tell you only to realize you're not there. Now I pretty much don't share that stuff with anyone, and I'm used to it. I don't forget as often, and those roads that all led to the hospitals have new memories.
Your wife doesn't call me anymore, and with any luck I've received her last card. I'll always be kind and respectful to her for the loyalty she showed you in the hospital, and she's not a bad person - I just can't mesh well with her communication style and personality. You were the only link between us.
I still miss you, even if I'm not overly romanticizing your life or role in mine. I'm glad you, as you put it, stopped being such a tight-ass before you passed on, but only wish you got to enjoy life that way more. I hope to learn that lesson through you - I think I have a bit - and carry on. Perhaps head-de-assed is like so many other things in life, 20 years may not feel different than 1 year.
Yeah, you're still dead. Me, I drink a lot less now - or a lot more like you did when you were a drunk. I've stopped with the mixed drinks and instead frequently have beer. I drink coffee now, and you'd probably like what I make - more for the routine and image that's special than for the taste (though it's damn good coffee Sir). I don't know what stories I'd tell you as they kind of repeat: I work, make money, sock it away, work out, drink, socialize...we'd probably talk about current events and wonder aloud why people don't follow the news.
So happy birthday.
I don't think about you as often, and when I do it hardly ever zings. Like the dentists drill that period of pain is a dull memory, one I cannot recall accurately. I still tell the same stories about you, though now I'm a bit more liberal with the bad ones and criticisms. It's rare now that I plot out my numbers and start to plan to tell you only to realize you're not there. Now I pretty much don't share that stuff with anyone, and I'm used to it. I don't forget as often, and those roads that all led to the hospitals have new memories.
Your wife doesn't call me anymore, and with any luck I've received her last card. I'll always be kind and respectful to her for the loyalty she showed you in the hospital, and she's not a bad person - I just can't mesh well with her communication style and personality. You were the only link between us.
I still miss you, even if I'm not overly romanticizing your life or role in mine. I'm glad you, as you put it, stopped being such a tight-ass before you passed on, but only wish you got to enjoy life that way more. I hope to learn that lesson through you - I think I have a bit - and carry on. Perhaps head-de-assed is like so many other things in life, 20 years may not feel different than 1 year.
Yeah, you're still dead. Me, I drink a lot less now - or a lot more like you did when you were a drunk. I've stopped with the mixed drinks and instead frequently have beer. I drink coffee now, and you'd probably like what I make - more for the routine and image that's special than for the taste (though it's damn good coffee Sir). I don't know what stories I'd tell you as they kind of repeat: I work, make money, sock it away, work out, drink, socialize...we'd probably talk about current events and wonder aloud why people don't follow the news.
So happy birthday.
