My first love has been gone 9 years today. The man who loved me no matter how crazy I got. The man I stood beside no matter how far down the bottle he crawled. My dad was certainly one of a kind.
The dense fog this morning felt like it was just for me. It felt like insulation, or a dampener, for the inevitable yearly removal of the scab of his absence. It came a little later this year, gratefully. I had spent some time working for others – a sure way to relieve troubles of your own. And in the quiet of going home it hit me, “Today is the 22nd. Today is the 22nd.” So, through a mist closer than the one forming on my windshield, I make it home to spend the day.
Does time make the grief go away? Obviously not. Does time make it easier to get through? Some years.
I do have the assurance I will see him when I, too, leave this life. And while I’m here I have the assurance that God is watching out in particular for people like me:
Sing to God, sing praise to his name,
extol him who rides on the clouds
his name is the Lord—
and rejoice before him.
A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows,
is God in his holy dwelling. (Psalm 68:4-5, link from Biblegateway.com)