Somewhere in my parents' house, there are audiocassettes that have my father's voice recorded on them. He's been gone 7 years 5 months and 21 days, and while I still 'hear' his voice in my head, I cannot remember what his voice actually sounds like. I was hit with an overwhelming urge to get in my car and drive the 10 or so hours to my parents' house and find those tapes. Oh, to hear his voice one more time.
I am not a fan of March. It is a month bookended by painful dates. I look forward to April as though it is a warm cabin in the midst of a blizzard I am lost in. I just try to keep my head down and plow through to the warmth. Make it out of the cold one step and day at a time.
A friend lost her mother the other day and the only advice I could offer is that it gets...better. It doesn't get easier and I find myself missing him more as I get older, but it does seem to get better. If that makes any sense. I'm slowly coming to appreciate the sacrifices he made for me and for our family and I find I understand him more with each passing day.
I just wish I could tell him so.