Time is a funny thing. We totally take for granted the time we have. We're always thinking for the future. We never stop and think about the moment we are living in right now. Everything that we do is with the intention that we are about to live another moment longer. Even the simple task of going to get ice cream or food. During that process all we think about is when we're going to eat it, how its going to taste - we don't focus on the now, the adventure, whats happening in the moment we are living in right now. Why? And what if we don't get that next moment?
5 months and 1 week. 3 holidays. 22 weeks and 6 days. 160 days.
I can't believe that much time has gone by.
It feels like yesterday I got into a fight with you. It feels like yesterday you texted me to say, "I love you." It feels like yesterday that I was asked, "did you hear from your father?" It feels like yesterday that I got the phone call you were gone.
It feels like yesterday.
Not 160 days ago.
Time is a funny thing.
Twelve years ago, I never expected to be put in the position I was in with you. I never thought I would be so far away from you. I never thought drugs would consume your life. I never thought you would go to jail. I never thought I would feel worthless to my own father. But, I got stabbed in the heart multiple times. Well, I almost wish thats what happened. That would've hurt less than the pain I've experienced from the amount of times I've been hurt by you.
I still blame myself for the way things were after mom took me away. I still blame myself for acting like a shitty daughter and treating you like crap. I've always blamed myself. Its always been my fault. I should have showed you support. I should not have shut you out. I should have been there. I should have taken my chances with you when I had them, but I ran out of time. You ran out of time. We ran out of time.
Time is a funny thing.
I left for school right away. I took measures to process that you were gone. I tried to get a grasp and pretend that I was okay - everything was okay. The truth is I didn't process anything. Did you overdose? Did you commit suicide? What was I possibly missing?
Will I ever know?
I came up with the answer to that - NO.
After four months I went home. For the first time I allowed myself to think about it all. I allowed myself to process. I came up with my own decisions - I had to decide. I had to be comfortable with what I thought happened. And after a month of thinking, I finally decided that you killed yourself. You committed suicide. You stopped your clock and ended your time.
I came back to school with new thoughts on the matter. I finally verbally accepted that you took your own life - you committed suicide. I said it out loud.
Twenty minutes later I found out that you were not intoxicated - you did not overdose.
A heart attack stole your life.
I've never been more relieved and upset all at the same time.
I finally gave myself time. I finally used my time to process. I finally used my time to make a decision. I finally took time to think. I finally had time. I finally found the time to accept what I was thinking. I finally used my time to say things out loud.
Time is a funny thing.
Your's was stolen from you.
Today, your earthly self would have turned 55, but instead, you turn 1 in Heaven.
Death chose you. Death stopped your clock.
You didn't have a chance. I didn't have a chance with you. We didn't have a chance.
I don't care what the circumstances were to our relationship. I wish we had time, I wish we had a chance. I wish that I could have been better. I wish that you could have been better. I wish we could have known good. I wish you had more time. I wish you could have seen 55, clean 55, no more drugs 55 - a new you at 55. I wish you could have seen a clean life.
I wish it didn't choose you.
But it did.
I wish I could tell you how much I love you. I should have done it 161 days ago when I had time.
Happy Birthday, Dad.
