For me, January still feels like an open wound. It's twenty years since my dad passed away, but it's still hard to shake off the pain of losing him in such a young age. Even now, when I see people laughing and smiling on New Year's Day, I feel a pang of sadness thinking about what could have been.
One of my most vivid memories of that last year with my dad is of an older neighbor who walked into our house thinking it was a party. He was mistaken for the namesake of Mahatma Gandhi, but it didn't matter to us - we just wanted some company in our grief. As I look back on it now, it's clear that he was an unexpected gift from my dad.
Fast forward twenty years, and while things have changed much since then, the pain still lingers. My mom can't bear to visit Dad's grave, and when January 30th approaches, she becomes withdrawn and anxious about facing the day without him by her side.
As I've grown older, I find myself grappling with what could have been if my dad had lived longer. Would he have become softer with age, or would he still be gruff and opinionated? My mom jokes that we'll never know because he didn't get to grow old enough to figure it out for himself.
Even now, when I'm surrounded by loved ones - including our grandchildren who share my dad's name - I find myself wishing he was here. Life goes on, but the ache of losing him still feels like an open wound.
One of my most vivid memories of that last year with my dad is of an older neighbor who walked into our house thinking it was a party. He was mistaken for the namesake of Mahatma Gandhi, but it didn't matter to us - we just wanted some company in our grief. As I look back on it now, it's clear that he was an unexpected gift from my dad.
Fast forward twenty years, and while things have changed much since then, the pain still lingers. My mom can't bear to visit Dad's grave, and when January 30th approaches, she becomes withdrawn and anxious about facing the day without him by her side.
As I've grown older, I find myself grappling with what could have been if my dad had lived longer. Would he have become softer with age, or would he still be gruff and opinionated? My mom jokes that we'll never know because he didn't get to grow old enough to figure it out for himself.
Even now, when I'm surrounded by loved ones - including our grandchildren who share my dad's name - I find myself wishing he was here. Life goes on, but the ache of losing him still feels like an open wound.