My dad died on April 13th, 2010, three days after my 23rd birthday. Today has been, for some reason, particularly difficult. I feel like right now I would give anything in the world to go back to six months ago, or a year ago, to my innocence, and stay there forever.
I just want to chat with him. Watch the Wimbledon, hate the Red Sox and cheer for the Yankees. I feel like the death of my father has forced me to grow up in a way that I never wanted to, at least not in my early twenties. My heart hurts every day to be with him, and I still live in eternal shock, even while his body lies in a cemetery on Long Island, and his gold necklace that he wore daily lies on my neck.
The things I once did no longer bring me the same pleasure. I feel as if my charge has run out... my battery is low, I have no reception.