Sometimes I forget my dad is dead.
The truth is, as much as we loved one another and one another's company, we didn't talk very often. We didn't even text very often. I'm not sure why neither of us made the effort. I knew my parents were always very busy with work, church, and social activities, and I guess I felt I would be intruding on their time if I was always calling or texting. I live in a different city and have a life that they really knew little about, not that it is a secret. Montgomery is 90 miles away and so our lives were sort of mysterious to one another just because of the distance. That makes it easier to forget.
So sometimes I forget my dad is dead. Then I remember. Something makes me think of Dad. Today it was a sweet older guy browsing the watches. He cheerfully told me he and his wife would soon escape our dreary rain and head to San Diego to see their son and grandchildren. He said, "Even if the weather's bad in San Diego, there's grandchildren, and grandchildren are always sunshine!"
That's something my dad would say. I've been trying to think of the reason my shift at work was just so awful. It wasn't just the weather or the low morale or sinus pressure. It was that this friendly, unsuspecting grandfather had made me remember that my dad is dead, and made me wish oh so briefly I had never even known him so I wouldn't have to know the pain of having lost him.
Sometimes I forget my dad is dead, and it's wonderful. Then I remember, and I'm overcome by this feeling of blankness and anxiety I feel like I should have felt months ago so it could be over now, I could be moving along.
I want to forget and not be reminded, because I want to believe, more than four months later, that it isn't true.