You see that picture up there? I don’t remember those smiles. The times of happiness. The times of having my mother and dad together. They spil9up before I was three. I was told a few versions of why amd how it happened. But to be honest, none of that matters.
The other day in therapy I talked about how I can’t bring myself to spread my dads ashes. Which may not seem like a big deal, but for the past 10 years that’s always been the plan. Find a fishing hole, spread his ashes.
Now, 10years later. I have the ashes to spread and I can’t do it. I thought that was an issue and there was something wrong with me. In reality, I’m just not ready to let go. I’ve bottled everything up for so long that I’m finally facing what i have blocked out for so long. So I’m buying an urn, and I’ll be hanging on to my dad for a while longer, maybe for forever… who knows.
That’s my dad. The dad that raised me. The man who instilled so much in me. I owe my thick headedness and stubborn self to him. I am so grateful to have gotten to spend 14 years with him. He wasn’t perfect. We were never rich. But I was loved. I knew my dad had my back. So for now, I’m going to go with this new path my heart is pulling me towards. His ashes will stay around until I’m ready to let him go, if that ever happens.
To be honest, I see many more posts about my dad coming up. I’m not sorry.