Every year since my dad's death - I've stared at the calendar on the 6th knowing what the 7th meant. Knowing that it was the anniversary of my dad departing this earth. Last night when I looked at the calendar, for the first time in six years... the 7th was just another number. I wasn't lost in grief or memories.. I woke up this morning to see my uncle's note about six years gone by... and realized what day it really was. I know grief isn't textbook, every person you grieve for isn't missed in the same ways - but for some reason this absence of remembering the night before, the absence of the looming dread of the 7th rolling around on the calendar - marks further healing in my loss.
Life has continued on these last six years. Many things have taken place, all of which I know my father would have loved to be a part of - and maybe he's looking down watching from a better place than we are, I don't know. What I do know is that he is absent and that I miss him. He's missed so much... but his legacy certainly lives on.