They say the first year is the hardest. I disagree. That would imply that things get better. Doesn’t happen. Sorry to burst your euphemistic little bubble. It never gets easier. I suppose that I might have a twisted view. You see, I can’t grieve. Don’t tell me just to let it go. Don’t tell me he went home. Don’t tell me he’s in a better place. That means nothing. He may be in a better place, but he’s not here with me. Where a father belongs. And to see your mother remarry in a mere six months, it doesn’t convey the idea that you’re all in this together. When even your own brother and sisters don’t even talk about him, it makes you think that they’ve forgotten, too. Well, I haven’t. I haven’t forgotten the most influential adult in my life. I haven’t forgotten how it felt. That instant of soul rending agony, as I watched and felt him give on last sigh. I felt him grow cold and rigid in my grip. Then, blackness, emptiness. Devoid of feeling, emotion. Now, I don’t have the compass I once had. I have nothing to measure myself against. It’s like driving down a dark back road without any headlights. How am I supposed to know how to act? How to be? I didn’t have enough time. All I wanted, was to reach the point where he’s no longer just a father, just a disciplinarian. But also a friend. I wanted Dad to be my friend. So bad. I was a stupid kid. I was rebellious, hateful, spiteful. I never gave him the chance. Now, I see my folly. I know that I wanted him to be my friend. I think he wanted that, too. It’s too late now. Regret tears me apart. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about how I pushed him away, until it was too late. Until the cancer had ravaged and destroyed his very faculty of thought. Only then did I realize what he was. And how he loved me. I know that he loved me very much. And underneath all of my filth, all of my dirt and hate and envy and spite and rebellion, I loved him. And still do. But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s gone. That I’ll never hear his laugh or voice again. I just wanted to know that he was proud of me.

Dad, I was am proud of you, I am so proud that I had you as a father. I just want to be like you when I grow up. Dad, are you proud of me?