Because he passed away on a leap year, the first calendar anniversary of losing him was almost a month ago. That was rough. This feels different.
  1. It's a non-parenting weekend, but I'll probably go easy on the bourbon tomorrow night, because I need to get to services and say Kaddish Saturday morning.
  2. I had a dream a couple nights ago that I was hugging him. I don't wake up crying from those dreams as often. Now I wake with a gentle sadness but overall warmth and sense of love.
  3. I wrote several Dating Dad stories about my father getting sick and then saying goodbye, so I don't feel like I need to write about it this month.
  4. I need to Google whether there's a prayer or something for when I light the yahrzeit candle.
  5. Sometimes it still doesn't seem real that he's gone. And then I remember that I can't call him or visit him, and it hits me sideways. A year later.
  6. Oddly, one of the places his absence is most noted is on Facebook. No binge-liking of the last two weeks of photos I posted, no well-meant-but-embarrassing comments.
  7. I miss him. But now that a year has passed, memories of how vital and warm and funny he was before he got sick are slowly taking the place of the way I saw him toward the end. That's a comfort.
  8. Who am I kidding? It's the first night of a non-parenting weekend. There will be bourbon. I'll toast my dad (who, being a Jewish baby boomer, wasn't really all that into liquor), I'll tell a story or two about him, and no matter how late I roll home, I'll get myself to services the next morning.