Anyway. He died, at 52 from a heart attack and complications of diabetes, and it still doesn't seem real to me. He always claimed to be immortal, and sometimes I still think he's pulling an Elvis on us. Also, this is the beginning of my pre-term labor with the twins, so, the beginning of the end with them. It makes April, May, and the first part of June slightly moody months.
Grief is interesting in its ebbs and flows. Usually, around this time of year I just get a little down, and I don't pinpoint what it's about until, duh, the dates match up.
Most of you never knew my dad. He was a big guy with a big personality. He was a genius, a comedian, a software pirate, and a killer dad. I mean, he was really, really good at being a dad. Toby is a lot like him. He reminds me of him all the time, with the brilliance and the sneakiness.
|That's me, with the tights. I've always been committed to fashion.|
I never really thought too much about heaven. I mean, I was raised Charismaniac, and I believed in it, as a far off land and what-not, but once my dad died and then my sons, it became a little bit more like a destination. I want to live to be very,very, very old, but heaven, and that reunion, is very real to me now.
and because this doesn't feel like a complete entry, here's a link to moody poetry I've written about him over the years, if you're into that sort of thing.