Untitled: or How I'm Trying To Do 8th March Differently.

8th March is my father’s birthday.

Up until 7 years ago, it was always a celebration in our home, especially because he always took time to celebrate the women in his life: his wife and his three daughters. 

It is a much less celebratory day, now, as each year is a harsh reminder that he is no longer with us.

This year, I am determined to do something different with this day, which usually throws me into a pit of grief and despair. (Along with Christmas, my parents’ wedding anniversary, family birthdays, etc. The list is endless. The emptiness he left is vast and wide and infinite. Ugh. I miss him so damn much.)

Our family, like so many others around the world, has dealt with so much grief recently. I can’t tell you the number of funerals, church services, burials I have attended, or not been able to attend in the past few months. It is exhausting. It can break you. Especially when the one person who would comfort you, or help you make sense of the madness, or tell you that everything will be ok, is no longer here.

This year, I am trying to be more grateful. In my endless grief, I am trying to be grateful that I had my Dad in my life. That he saw me grow into an adult. That he saw me make an effort to be a better person, and to grow into the person he always believed I could be. That he loved me so much when he was on this earth, that I can still feel it, even if I can’t hug him anymore or hear his voice. His laugh. Oh, that laugh! (Not to mention his sneezes that shook the house. I inherited those. Thanks, Pops.)

I am especially grateful that he taught my sisters and I to know our worth. To hold our heads high and never accept discrimination simply because we were female. To not accept any shit from men whatsoever. 

And that he would love us no matter what.

I am grateful. In pain, forever altered, but grateful.

Continue to rest peacefully, Daddy.