There’s a Box in the Ground with a String Leading to My Heart.

Monday Fun-Day #5

Last night I was restless so I read Bo Burnham’s Egghead, in entirety. It made me laugh and cry – and not just from laughing so hard. The illustrations by Chance Bone are incredibly noteworthy, as well.

*takes a deep breath* *exhales sharply, too*

Well, let’s dive right in.

This past weekend and today, I have been thinking a lot about my father. He isn’t with us anymore and it’s been nearly 5 years since he passed. I’ve gotten past the denial I used to be in and have learned ways to rise above the incipient grief. I know it saves some heartache to admit to myself that it will never be over. Nearly every day I miss him, tremendously. It doesn’t bother me the way it used to, though.

Grief is something I seldom have in common with people my age. I’m not saying most young adults haven’t lost people close to them, I just don’t happen to run into them. When I do it usually impacts me in a pretty earnest way.

I’m having trouble with the idea of my first car, recently. Most of the money I will be using to buy it is from my parents, so some from my dad. I have an emotional attachment to the choice I’ll be making – I see it as, very likely, the last gift I will ever receive from him and that is a big deal to me.

I’m the youngest of my siblings, I had the least amount of time with him. Therefore, I miss what I remember as well as all the things I never had the chance to – if that makes sense. A lot of resentment I’ve had came from that fact.

It’s going to be special to me, getting a car.

I knew when I was younger, when my father was diagnosed with cancer, that I may not be being seeing him at my wedding, or college graduation.. or high school graduation. Never had I been so disappointed to be right about something.

I give myself a hard time about how our relationship was when he passed. I didn’t know guilt could get that heavy. So heavy that I would tell myself I was holding a bag of feathers rather than bricks to cope – denial. When people talk about high school, now that it’s been a few years since I graduated, I find myself thinking of it in a different light. So much went on for me. I lost quite a few family members and others. I came to terms with my sexuality. **I lost my mind, essentially.** Then I wandered around looking for it while dragging someone along, not remembering that they had their own things to find and places to be. I still regret that very much, if not more than how things were when my father had to leave. Dragging that person along because I forgot how to let go was a forced choice. One I didn’t handle with any grace, at all.

I think I found my mind, though.

It might be right what people say. That you’ll find what you’re looking for as soon as you stop looking and just move forward instead.

I was right back to being broken but I chose to do something differently this time. I held my hand out, for once. I used my own thumb to life my chin to the sky. I stopped cupping my hands to collect my tears and let them soak into pavement, soil and fabrics. I’m learning to let go and how to hold my own hand.

I still cry about everything I’ve lost. I don’t think of it as a weak thing to do, anymore. It’s honest and serves me better than spending energy fighting it.

Grieving is so important to do whenever you need to. You can’t ignore a thing like that.

I’m grateful for the time I got to spend with him. I’m grateful for the things I lost. At least, I had them. It wouldn’t be the same if anything had gone differently – that scares me more than toughing the world with one less in your troop, even if they were fantastic.

Don’t be sad.. unless you really need to be. That’s perfectly fine, too.

*with all my honey*




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