It feels like I am slightly crazy.
I do know that my dad is gone. I know I will never hear his voice, feel his hugs, see him laughing with my kids, but I don't believe it.
I don't mean this in some poetic, obtuse sense, but very literally. Most of the time, when I think of my dad, when I see his picture, I think he is still here. I think I will just call him, that I will go to the VA, and if I just look hard enough, if I can just figure out where the party is, that he'll be there. It takes me several minutes, not just to realize, but to convince myself that he's not here.
It is only now. Only when the day is over, the lights are out, and the words spill from my fingertips instead of my mouth. Only now do I really know he is gone.
I know it, because my face is full of tears and the only place they could come from is the empty space where he used to live.
Though I suppose, that if I can fall asleep, I will wake up and be crazy all over again. Crazy is easier than empty.