|The day my daddy died.|
Right now our days are sort of divided between unpacking and settling into our new house, and mourning my daddy. There's a strange contrast between the newness of a brand new house and planning the garden that we're going to grow, and the emptiness and finality that death brings.
At the same time, I have the strongest sense that I haven't lost my dad. Although he's not here to talk to or answer all of the questions that keep popping up ("Where did you put Espen's bath toys? How are we related to this person?"), the relationship I had with him remains in tact. I still have a father that loves me, adores my children, disapproves of many of my decisions and is ultimately quite proud of the person I have become. That hasn't changed. But now the nature of that relationship is different, and that is what I am learning to adjust to right now. It's going to take a while, and I know that my heart is going to carry a little sorrow for a long time to come. The good news is that a human heart can hold both sorrow and joy, and my life is such a good one with so much to be happy about. Like the little girl lying beside me as I type, blowing spit bubbles and having a chat with the ceiling fan.
In summary, I feel like I am a little bit out of commission right now. A little bit prone to bursting into tears when people are nice to me. A little bit prone to getting lost in my own thoughts. But also a little bit prone to ignoring the boxes that need unpacking so I can play with my children. To wrapping my arms around my husband because I just want to be close. To feeling immeasurably grateful for the love of our family and friends.
Be a little patient with me.