07.08.22

I cried today for my dad.

I cry probably once a month, or maybe it's every three weeks; I've stopped trying to keep count. About 8 months have passed but still I long for him, for his presence. There's that cheesy thing they say in movies about how they'd give anything for just one more day with their parent. I feel it. I get it now.

In the last three years, our family has lost three family members - my grandpa on my mom's side, my dad, and now my grandpa on my dad's side. My grandpa has suffered from Alzheimer's for at least the last 5-6 years, so he probably didn't even realize that his son passed. And I'm starting to wonder if we've been cursed, or if the timing is just remarkably unfortunate. 

In Buddhist/Taoist/Taiwanese (??) culture, when someone passes, you are supposed to mourn their death for a period of time, lasting from 49 days up until 3 years. This means no celebrations, whether it's New Year's, birthdays, or weddings, no drinking alcohol, no wearing of red. According to my mother, the dead's spirits also "follow" the family members during this time before they 'officially' go to rest. You are not even supposed to visit other people's homes during this time, as not to bring the dead's spirits into their house. 

At our age, it's perpetually wedding season, so we have skirt the rules and let all these couples confirm that we're okay with attending and then attending the wedding but trying not to feel too happy in them. Great fun.

All the while I find myself feeling numbed and dazed. I don't desire to grieve anything else after my dad - it's so much effort and energy. There is a weight that grows in my chest as I consider my grief, but that weight and darkness disappear when I brush the thoughts away. And so I have. My dad would have been so sad to hear about his father passing, but I cannot bear his theoretical grief any more than I can bear my own. 

Therapy might be good. One day.