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Yesterday marked four years since my father died. Which will never cease to be a phrase that I find difficult to fathom, let alone say in any form, verbal or otherwise.
Last year I'd wanted to go out to dinner and chat about Dad but it didn't happen for whatever reason. I might have been in the throes of the Ick then? I don't really recall and I'm far too lazy to peek back and see if I mentioned it in the trusty LJ. This year we made it out to dinner, but not a peep about Dad. It was kinda awkward, really, but I don't know how much of that was all in my head and how much was really there.
Went to Outback because it was a place we could all agree on, though if they'd pushed it, I would have gone to T-Bonz which is where Dad preferred to go.
So the day passed and no one really said much about him. Which is... weird. I don't know, maybe this is another case of Hollywood telling me lies, or the universe in my head being so very different from what reality has any hope of becoming. Or maybe it's that March 3 is the one day we cannot speak, verbally, of him. We mention him so many other days that maybe the day he ceased to be here at all is just the one day we can't form the words.
Dinner itself was tasty, though I wish there was a little more time between cheese fries and salad or salad and dinner. Also, I wish most of their deserts didn't have nuts or this mistaken idea that cheesecake requires chocolate. Ick. I paid for the food, the boy paid for the alcohol. I had a glass of Baileys and I believe that is tradition at this point.
Which is funny because Dad hated Baileys, but that's why it's tradition. For Christmas, he had a friend or a co-worker or someone who always gave Baileys and Dad, in turn, would give it to Mums and then I would snitch it when I was old enough. The year he died, my uncle took us out to dinner and that was my alcohol of choice. After we got home, I sat in Dad's chair and broke into the last bottle he'd been given and watched Now And Then.
I miss my father.
Last year I'd wanted to go out to dinner and chat about Dad but it didn't happen for whatever reason. I might have been in the throes of the Ick then? I don't really recall and I'm far too lazy to peek back and see if I mentioned it in the trusty LJ. This year we made it out to dinner, but not a peep about Dad. It was kinda awkward, really, but I don't know how much of that was all in my head and how much was really there.
Went to Outback because it was a place we could all agree on, though if they'd pushed it, I would have gone to T-Bonz which is where Dad preferred to go.
So the day passed and no one really said much about him. Which is... weird. I don't know, maybe this is another case of Hollywood telling me lies, or the universe in my head being so very different from what reality has any hope of becoming. Or maybe it's that March 3 is the one day we cannot speak, verbally, of him. We mention him so many other days that maybe the day he ceased to be here at all is just the one day we can't form the words.
Dinner itself was tasty, though I wish there was a little more time between cheese fries and salad or salad and dinner. Also, I wish most of their deserts didn't have nuts or this mistaken idea that cheesecake requires chocolate. Ick. I paid for the food, the boy paid for the alcohol. I had a glass of Baileys and I believe that is tradition at this point.
Which is funny because Dad hated Baileys, but that's why it's tradition. For Christmas, he had a friend or a co-worker or someone who always gave Baileys and Dad, in turn, would give it to Mums and then I would snitch it when I was old enough. The year he died, my uncle took us out to dinner and that was my alcohol of choice. After we got home, I sat in Dad's chair and broke into the last bottle he'd been given and watched Now And Then.
I miss my father.