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[personal profile] bluealoe
Every year, I dare to hope it will be easier. And every year I'm disappointed when it's not. I guess it's time to accept Father's Day is never going to slip on by without turning the knife a little deeper.

It's not the constant reminders of fathers everywhere I turn, though that does hurt. (It feels like the universe is taunting me, saying "look at all these people who have fathers, and you don't!") It's not that our old tradition of breakfast in bed is gone, though that does make me sad.

What really gets me is the memory of that last Father's Day. How I was in a bad mood, I didn't want to talk to him, I just wanted to be left alone. How I called him anyway, because it's what you're supposed to do. How I was grumpy and cut the conversation short. How that whole week, I keep thinking "I'll call Dad back tomorrow." Because of course there's always a tomorrow. Until there's not.

I know it could be much worse. We could have been arguing, or not speaking to each other. We could have been on bad terms, and left unfinished business. On the whole, we had a great relationship. We said "I love you" to each other every time we talked.

But still...

I wish I hadn't been so grumpy. I wish I hadn't treated Father's Day like an obligation, not a gift. I wish I had called him back. I wish, I wish, I wish.

One thing I've learned over the past eleven years is the most destructive emotion isn't grief. It's regret. Grief hollows you from the inside out, but regret...regret lives in that empty space inside of you, burrowing into every wound you have, constantly whispering "you could have done better".

I'm trying to live with it. I'm trying to accept I did the best I could. I'm trying to remember the positives, the love and the laughter and the hugs. And most of the time, I do all right.

But every year, the third Sunday in June comes around and everything crashes down on me again.
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