I've been thinking of my family a lot since last weekend. My father, in particular. He passed away back in July. As I exist now, trying to find work, trying to repair my career and my life, there are many moments when I wish I could call him up on the phone and ask him for his advice. Lori and I talked about it last week. She said it's like he's on a long vacation or something, and doesn't have a phone with him. It's torture, feeling like he's out there, somewhere, but no matter what I do, there's no way to reach him.
He had a long battle with cancer. It all began back in 2004. Over the past five or so years there've been countless treatments, countless in's-and-out's at the hospital, countless scares, countless me-hopping-on-a-bus-and-rushing-up-to-NH-as-soon-as-possible. It was always frustrating and hard for me, being 5 hours away, but my home is here, in NYC. My life is here. My career is/was here. My boyfriend and all of my friends are here. I always refused to feel guilty about living this far from him. But those mad dashes up there all the time really had a way of drawing out every single little emergency that he had. -made each event seem a lot longer than it really was.
Anyway, I recently dug up a poem I wrote back in 2008. I actually hadn't read it over again since way back before he died. So, reading it now, postmortem... well, it just sort of put it all in a new perspective for me.
Anyway, here it is:
That's it. Quick blog for today.