Sixteen years
Content warning: suicide. Sixteen years. Sixteen birthdays. Sixteen Christmases. Sixteen periods of 365 days. Days filled with joy, days filled with pain, day after day that went by. What is October 15th, anyways? And why did you choose this day to leave, to die, to have this be your finality? Sixteen years. You’d think sixteen years would be long enough to process. Time is supposed to heal wounds, that’s what they say, right? But the more time passes, the more you miss. ---------- I have learned through these years that it’s not necessarily in the highs and the lows that I miss my dad. Sure, there are moments I am filled with joy that I wish I could share with him or moments that I deal with difficult news I wish I could ask him for guidance, but honestly? If I could choose any hour of my life to spend with my dad, it’d just be an hour talking, maybe sharing a meal, maybe meeting a friend. You see, honestly, I don’t remember much of my dad. That used to be one of my biggest fears,