It's been two years since my dad's 61st birthday, his last birthday, and two years since his diagnosis. The hurt is still very acute though mercifully it's not as constant. I think of him every day, but most days it's just memories of him. Like any great loss, it's difficult for other people to understand, even if they've gone through something similar, or lost the same person. Ultimately we are all alone in our grief, and that makes it harder.
One thing I've learned though, is that what they say about love surviving death is true. My father loved me and he was good to me, and I still possess that love. When I feel particularly sad, I remind myself that he wouldn't want me to be sad. His love makes it easier to let myself be happy.
Dad, hanging out in my dressing room on my wedding day, June 2009
