Its impossible to avoid.
Its there hanging out in commercials.
All over social media; in photos of people celebrating and getting lunch with worlds number one Dad.
Ari Eastman
Its easy to grow bitter.
Its easy to look at everyone posting about their fathers and want to hate them a little bit.
The first year following my dads death, I went into pure denial.
Out of sight, out of mind.
I barely even remember the day he actually died.
There are bits and pieces.
Things I can put together.
A general feeling that still sends an immediate lump to my throat.
I never allowed myself to think about it.
I never in a million years would have thought Id write so openly about it.
However, with time, and with my grieving, I saw how therapeutic sharing him would actually be.
Doesnt mean it came easily.
Doesnt mean it didnt hurt like hell putting a magnifying glass to my most painful wound.
But for me, it opened up something I never could have imagined.
The more I write about my dad, the more I feel him with me.
Im not a religious person.
Ive never had a hard stance on an afterlife.
I dont necessarily think my dad is watching me.
But even after death, my relationship with him continues.
When I tell a stranger about a favorite memory, Im inviting him back to life for a moment.
Nostalgia is not always a bad thing.
The past can serve a purpose in the here and now.
Fathers Day is still hard.
But the most gratifying thing Ive learned is just how with me he is.
Hes in my smile (literally, I have his gap teeth).
I love my dadsomuch.
And I know how much he loved me.
That kind of thing doesnt disappear just because someone dies.
That kind of thing continues for as long as Im still kicking.
