I’m still here.
I don’t have much of a point to this post. I just need to feel like I kind-of sort-of did something of some importance this morning. My brain is fogged, and no amount of caffeine can fix it. I got a full night’s sleep but I’m very tired.
This must be what mourning feels like.
… There’s a pun in there somewhere.
It’s strange – it doesn’t hurt to remember my father is gone. There’s a piece of me missing, maybe my sense of immortality, perhaps a loss of wonder or magic or a shred of innocence that was hanging on by the tip of its pinky whilst dangling over a deep expansive crevasse. I am changed, don’t get me wrong. I just don’t hurt.
And I feel kind of bad about that.
It hit me hard Sunday night. I sobbed, the salty taste of my tears and mucus running across my lips, and I hurt and I crumpled like the tissues I used. But after that, it’s been better – or at least as “better” as it can be.
I’ll miss him, that snarky ass that was my dad. He taught me a lot, whether it be directly or indirectly. I learned from the lessons he spoke, did the opposite and learned from those actions as well. I just wish I knew him a bit better. But that’s got to be pretty common, right?
Anyway, to you folks that followed me when I started talking about the comics process, know that I will get back to it eventually. I’m still here.