To write is to be exposed; to be exposed is to be vulnerable.
This is the hardest blog yet.
It is (almost) one month before my 33rd birthday. And I panicked. Not because I’m getting older, but because I will officially out live my dad.
I thought this year would be the best yet. 32 had to be lucky. It needed to be. I was 8 years old when my dad died. He died at the age of 32.
A. is 8 years old; I’m 32.
When I turn 33, I will out live my dad.
Who can say that at such a young age?! My daughter was my age when my dad died, and I was his age. Not going to lie, this thought has really messed with me. 32 has scared me. I thought, something bad is going to happen. It has to. I can’t imagine what my family went though when they told my brother (at the time he was 4) and I about my dad’s passing. A. can’t go more than a weekend without missing me. She said it wasn’t fair that she had a whole week with her dad, and not with her mom. Try telling a young child that their parent will be gone longer than a weekend.
Realistically, I know the two aren’t hand in hand, but I still can’t help thinking that something bad will happen. And that has been a paralyzing fear anytime something new happens.
I still have a little over a month, so I’ll take each day as they come. I’m sure everything will be okay. On my birthday though, I’ll probably be more emotional, because I’ll miss him.
As I always do on my birthday. And as always, the sun will shine, but 33 won’t be the same to me as it is to others. I will out live my dad and look up and thank him for another sunshine.