|My dad & me - Easter 1981|
I am mostly okay during the day.
I can get through life and joke and smile.
I can do the tasks I need to do.
Much different than the first week with Roger's death of course.
But my dad was not part of my everyday routine.
It is at night.
When the world starts to shut down.
It is when I am not busy.
It is when I pass by the picture of my dad holding me as a baby that has been in my kitchen for a while now.
I was about six and half months old and my dad was about to turn twenty-two.
In this picture, like in most of my memories, my dad is smiling. Maybe even laughing.
I can still hear his laugh almost giggle.
On Tuesday, I just wanted to call my dad.
Tell him this horrible nightmare I had.
He would tell me I was being silly.
Nothing like that would ever happen.
But it did.
A week ago today.
Three Kings Day will never be the same for me.
The official end of the Christmas season will always be a bit tainted.