I completely understand how ridiculous and crazy and wrong this is going to sound.
I could have done something. Anything.
I could have stopped my dad from dying in some way. Given him my kidney. Been there more often. Been a better daughter. Something!
I feel like every time I think about my dad, I have this huge burden of guilt that I have been carrying this whole time.
It's not totally unnecessary guilt. I wasn't there when he died. I was off being a good student leader and helping out with a choir retreat. As always, I put work before my family. The one time that it mattered the most for me to be there.
I just wasn't.
These feelings seem to keep getting stronger. It will be 6 years in January.
It's supposed to get easier, right?
I know that I have expressed this before but I miss being special. You know, that feeling that only a dad can give his daughter? The one that says no matter what you do or who you become, you will always be his little girl. The one that gives you the confidence to do anything and supports you in everything. I miss that. A lot. And even more recently.
I know that I talk about it a lot. It's just that this is something that is looming over my head and I haven't been able to get over it or get past it or deal with it or accept it. I can't get it out of my head.
I will never forget my last moment with my dad. It will be forever mine. It's what keeps me going sometimes. And sometimes, it just isn't enough.
I don't know how God is going to sort through this one.