10 years
February 4
by Jenny Young
I honestly don't really know how to start this. Part of me is still reeling from the fact that it's been ten whole years since you passed. How did time fly so fast, to where I barely even recognize the me from back then?
I'm at the age now where my friends are settling down. I'm still friends with the usual bunch from my elementary/middle/high school years. I think about how lucky I am to have such a good group, people who grew up with me that I can count on to always have my back. People who have met you, who remember short moments they shared with you. How you used to hand them clementines when they came to visit.
Now, I'm the one standing in your place. I'm the one going to weddings and graduation parties for my friends' kids. I'm sitting here, surrounded by the hobbies that you and mom helped me build. I've gotten back into art, music, cooking. I even painted. I'm nowhere near a good a painter as you, but I think it's alright if I find my own style, slowly but surely.
I remember you used to tell us "Time waits for no one". I thought it was really dorky at the time, because my friends had shown me a movie called "The Girl Who Leapt Through Time" and that was the main quote they used. But that line is 100% true. No matter how much I want time to stand still, even just for a minute so I can catch my breath, it won't. I blink my eyes, and the world has moved on.
10 years ago, I lost someone who I thought would always be there. At 19, I had this silly notion that my parents and friends were invincible, that death was nothing to worry about. And then there I was, the police at my door, Mom's voice on the phone. You taught your final lesson to me that day, that nothing lasts forever. This past decade, I've watched mom's health decline. I've watched my friends struggle to come to terms with their own parents inevitability. And I realize that for the rest of my life, I will have to watch everyone through the same pain I did. That I will relive February 4th, 2014, over and over again.
I went to a funeral recently, for my friend's dad. And the pastor there told the congregation that we as people aren't gods. We all die someday. And that someday comes for us much faster than we'd like to admit. He told us that it was time to focus on what joy life gave. What joy we could bring to the world, and what joy those who had passed gave to us. It was time to move forward, to accept that death comes for us all, and to know that we can't stay in the never-ending cycle of grief forever.
I don't think I'm a positive enough person to say that I won't continue to grieve over the loss. Pastor Sandy had told me before the funeral, that it never gets any easier. And she's right, it doesn't. But all the things you've taught me over my childhood, they make me think of you in a happier light. With every sad memory, there's a happy one.
I know you're still here to get me through it all. I love you, Dad.
I'm at the age now where my friends are settling down. I'm still friends with the usual bunch from my elementary/middle/high school years. I think about how lucky I am to have such a good group, people who grew up with me that I can count on to always have my back. People who have met you, who remember short moments they shared with you. How you used to hand them clementines when they came to visit.
Now, I'm the one standing in your place. I'm the one going to weddings and graduation parties for my friends' kids. I'm sitting here, surrounded by the hobbies that you and mom helped me build. I've gotten back into art, music, cooking. I even painted. I'm nowhere near a good a painter as you, but I think it's alright if I find my own style, slowly but surely.
I remember you used to tell us "Time waits for no one". I thought it was really dorky at the time, because my friends had shown me a movie called "The Girl Who Leapt Through Time" and that was the main quote they used. But that line is 100% true. No matter how much I want time to stand still, even just for a minute so I can catch my breath, it won't. I blink my eyes, and the world has moved on.
10 years ago, I lost someone who I thought would always be there. At 19, I had this silly notion that my parents and friends were invincible, that death was nothing to worry about. And then there I was, the police at my door, Mom's voice on the phone. You taught your final lesson to me that day, that nothing lasts forever. This past decade, I've watched mom's health decline. I've watched my friends struggle to come to terms with their own parents inevitability. And I realize that for the rest of my life, I will have to watch everyone through the same pain I did. That I will relive February 4th, 2014, over and over again.
I went to a funeral recently, for my friend's dad. And the pastor there told the congregation that we as people aren't gods. We all die someday. And that someday comes for us much faster than we'd like to admit. He told us that it was time to focus on what joy life gave. What joy we could bring to the world, and what joy those who had passed gave to us. It was time to move forward, to accept that death comes for us all, and to know that we can't stay in the never-ending cycle of grief forever.
I don't think I'm a positive enough person to say that I won't continue to grieve over the loss. Pastor Sandy had told me before the funeral, that it never gets any easier. And she's right, it doesn't. But all the things you've taught me over my childhood, they make me think of you in a happier light. With every sad memory, there's a happy one.
I know you're still here to get me through it all. I love you, Dad.
