It’s not your fault, but I’m still really mad that you’re dead.
By
Updated 6 years ago,December 3, 2018
Its weird how life keeps going.
Like Netflix, episodes that continue playing long after everyone is asleep.
Zoltan Tasi
No one is even looking.
No one is even paying attention.
The sun rises and no one is awake to see it.
No one is awake to comment.
It used to make me really sick.
Made me want to throw plates and smash glass with my bare hands.
I screamed until it echoed.
Anything to be loud, to be crashing.
I wanted the universe to hear how badly it hurt.
But life kept going.
No matter how piercing the fall.
No matter how hard my heart tried to beat up the rest of me.
Still heard girls next to me in class laughing and talking about parties.
Still felt a sudden hatred for them.
A burning somewhere deep that I couldnt quite rid.
They didnt know their joy was turning my stomach inside itself.
They were just being teenagers.
They were doing what I wish I could.
The world didnt stop just because yours did.
People were still happy and making out and planning their next day outfits.
They were meeting up at Yogurt Shack and someone was always mad because Brian was a dick.
My dad was dead and my teacher was still asking questions aboutA Separate Peace.
The full extent to my grieving was delayed.
I hung out with denial as long as I could.
Its the best stage, you know.
Its the one that doesnt hurt as much.
Its the one that lets you look at others and not hate them.
It keeps the darkness at bay, for a bit.
For as long as it’s possible for you to.
Im sorry its not something your old co-workers can tape to their doors.
Im sorry its not even something I want to read to Mom in case it makes her sad.
I talk about you whenever I can.
I didnt for a while.
But thats the denial thing.Dont talk about it.
Dont make it real.
Dont remind yourself.I stopped writing for a long time after you died.
I didnt want to put it to paper, to laptop, to whatever.
Now, I tell your stories on Twitter.
Im giving strangers the best of you.
Im trying to share the wealth.
Theres so much of you to share.
Sometimes I have dreams that youre on an extended skiing trip.
You show up and Im so mad at you.
Im so mad at you for being away this long.
Im so mad at you for making us all think youre gone forever.
But then, you come into the house and hug me and I forgive you.
I forgive you for being in Norway or Sweden or Denmark for the past eight years.
I wake up and youre still in the urn.
Its not your fault, but Im still really mad that youre dead.
I tell myself I reached acceptance, the final stage of grief.
But thats just a lie.
Theres no accepting you being gone.
Not you, Dad.
