Sharing Something That’s a Private Memory I was walking home from high school, and I bumped into one of my mother’s friends. She said there was a surprise waiting for me at home, and that I would be very happy. I walked into my apartment, and my dad was there – back from the hospital
It can be hard to identify the line where grieving ends, and your personality begins. Do I have a quick temper because of all I’ve been through, or because I naturally have a short fuse? The people who care about me tend to err on the side of caution: everything
To reiterate an exhausted and lackluster explanation, 5 years ago (January 29th), my dad died. The anniversary slumbers in the back of my consciousness, ready at any moment to sabotage a perfectly normal conversation. “Hey Caitlin, what movie should I watch?” “Kill Bill” “How’d you decide so quickly?” “It was the last movie I watched
“I was so sorry to hear that your father died,” was probably one of the worst lines you could have said to me in 2010. I hated nothing more than other people’s pain in the months after my father passed. At best, it was an unpleasant reminder of what I was trying to put in
I have two really bad months in the year. January marks the anniversary of the decline of my father’s treatment for colon cancer, and his consequent death. There are a couple of days in January when grieving for my father makes it hard to get out of bed, because the sheer memory of grief weighs me down.