ξιs∂αmmε

Happy Birthday Dad.

This is hard. I thought this year would be better - at least I was going to try to make it so.

You had Emely, and I guess that part of me thought you'd make it because of her? For her, maybe. I knew it wasn't going to be for me, and I was mostly okay with that. As okay as I could be, anyway. So I pictured this day a lot differently last fall. Hell, even this Spring.

I'm wearing Helen's sweater - the one I honestly liked. I didn't plan to wear it, it just happened because I didn't feel like wearing the dress I laid out last night. Maybe I'll tell her, just check in and see how she's doing. I know she loved you a lot, even if you couldn't be together the way she wanted. She was one of the only people that gave a shit about you no matter what, I think, in the end.

I did my eyemakeup the same way it was the last time I saw you. I guess it must have looked okay, because you didn't make fun of it. Who's going to make fun of my shoes and hats and makeup now that you're not here?

I'll still make your cupcakes this weekend. And I'll IM Emely today, because I know you would want me to. I feel obligated, stuck and saddled with her, even though I know, logically, that I'm not. I guess this was how you felt about me?

Maybe, maybe not.

I kind of miss you being cranky.