April 13 is a special day

Three years ago today my dad died. Four years before that, he had his first series of heart attacks. But before ANY of that, he was my best friend. But today is an eerie day for me, one that I dread every year.

It's been exactly three years, feels like a thousand but no more than a day, a minute, one flick of the pause button.

Check out this link: http://etd.lib.fsu.edu/theses/available/etd-07162004-165510/unrestricted/Thesis3.pdf for a glimpse at my very long thesis, all about him.

I just want to say I miss him, he was my best friend, and I'm incomplete without him, but not as much as I used to be, and I don't know if I'm supposed to feel guilty about that. My life is good now, in part because he died and I was free to leave. What does that mean? How do we keep going and acknowledge this line that separates us from the past, those that are no longer here? It's like we're on opposite sides of the world, or friends that are no longer friends.

The other day I was at a movie, eating popcorn, and I thought that he would never be able to do that again. How odd.

Above is the picture of "my beach" on Anna Maria Island where I go every summer, where my aunt lives (literally on the beach, just a little to the right) and where my dad grew up (Bradenton).

This place represents us. Enjoy.