it’s been 3 weeks.
2 million memories.
and 1 day since my dear sweet baba became an angel.

using the past tense to talk about my baba comes almost naturally now.

he loved playing bridge.
he was an engineer.
he adored my brother and me (mostly me).

“my dad died” rolls off of my tongue in a way that surprises me every time i hear it…

i wish i could say things have gotten easier. people certainly expect them to…

i think about him each minute. every single day. it’s hard. it’s sad. it’s weird. it’s still surreal.

the pain is still new, fresh…raw. his death is still where my thoughts default when nothing else is distracting me. i think about him every time someone mentions their father in conversation. i think about him every time someone asks about my family…or mentions theirs.

at a friend’s wedding several weeks ago (right before my own dad passed), i watched her dance with her dad for a total of 2 seconds before i was overcome with emotion…knowing i wouldn’t ever share that special moment with my baba was devastating. and for a moment, i crumbled.

in just a few weeks i have become an expert at juggling my emotions. i am (usually) able to maintain my composure and get through each day, even though i know something too big for words is missing. and sometimes, before i even see it coming, grief shows up and changes everything.

sometimes i think about him and i’m suddenly grinning from ear to ear, but unable to say a word. it’s because i can hear my four-year-old self saying, “baaabaaaa” through uncontrollable giggles while i struggle to hoist myself up his small 65 inch frame that seemed larger than life to me…

i watch a girl dancing on her dad’s feet in a commercial and am transported back to days when i used to do the same.
recently, i watched my cousin climb up my brother’s legs and then flip herself over and a sob caught in my throat as i recalled doing the exact same thing with my dad and i think about how i want my future husband to do this with our children.

…my dad’s brother has the cutest little girls ever and i LOVE LOVE LOVE playing with them, watching them bounce around the room, twirling in place, jumping all over the couches, but there are moments when my grief grabs hold of me and all i can think about is how i will have kids someday…and when that someday comes my little ones won’t ever get to meet my dad.

my dad loved kids and would dreamily ask me when i might be ready to start a family of my own. it haunts me when i think of the fact that my littles won’t ever know him. i cannot imagine that they won’t get to read books on his lap, or go to the park with him, or cuddle up with him, or watch his face light up when they walk through the door…my dad was amazing and the most fantastic source of love…i know i can pass on his memory and his legacy, but there will still be something missing. something so huge that i can’t fathom it most days.

the truth is that there are some things, no matter how much we heal, grow, and accept, that are just not fair. i know beyond a shadow of a doubt that my dad’s love, which he freely showered on my brother and me, would have truly shined in the lives of my children.

most of the time, the thoughts are fleeting, coming and going throughout the day. it has become a part of my daily routine.

usually, it doesn’t upset me because the thoughts bring a smile, but there are those that bring a bit of pain. these are the times when i’m hit more intensely…these moments always catch me off guard. and they hit HARD.

it makes me wonder when i’ll have a normal sense of normal again. does that happen? is my ‘normal’ forever changed?

it’s a tough balance because i hate feeling like i am ‘the girl whose dad died,’ but i am…that’s me. my dad, my rock, my first love – is gone.

the saddest are the times when I’m sharing a memory and realize the person with whom i’m speaking just isn’t getting it. they never knew my baba, so they’re having a hard time picturing this almost-mythical figure i’m gushing about…

for many, he’s simply a collection of fragmented stories and memories of a little girl. how can i even come close to adequately explaining him? there are days when it absolutely crushes me to remember the truth: i can’t.

a person is so much more than their occupation, their likes and dislikes, or their talents. it’s about the moments you share with them. how they could draw people in. how their presence could fill a room.

the unconditional love.
the pride.
the laughs.
the embraces.

it’s all of the intangible little things you can’t put your finger on.

it’s the life that made that person special.

there are people now in my life that never knew him. i wish they could have. maybe then, it would be easier for them to grasp what i’m missing. and why after 3 weeks i’m still not ready to return to work, to my old routine, to being around strangers.

don’t get me wrong, i still love my life…and yet there are moments when i break down crying, and there are times when i completely break down and want to sleep away the next few months and wake up feeling some semblance of ‘normal.’

i still pick up my phone to call him. i still have the urge to finish whatever task i’m working on so that i can go visit him. i still want to ask his advice on things…

and that’s when i remember.

and that’s when i fall apart.
into pieces.

pieces of me…

…missing all the pieces that made up my baba.