Projects

I'm a procrasinator, I'm the first to admit it. I have this horrible tendancy to put things off and I rarely do things by the time I said I would--this was a big failing when I was in school. I rarely did my homework and I was alwyas late on assignments.

Still, as much as I put things off, I do usually get it done, eventaully. I just have to push my deadline back a few times and then force myself to do it, no more excuses.

I currently have a project like that. Last year when my dad died, I decided I wanted to do a memory book of sorts, pictures, momentos of his life that sort of thing, put togetehr in a story of sorts. Before I was even born my relatives did something similiar for my grandmother's birthday and I've always loved it, so that's where I got the idea--plus I mean, we needed to do something with his birth certificate and the stuff from the funeral.

I orginially wanted it done my father's day, but I hadn't even managed to bring by myself to start it by then. So, then I reset my target date to the 21st of February--the first anniversary of his death. I figure a year's enough time.

It's January and I just convinced myself that it needed to be done. So I started. I found that it was actually comforting to go through the pictures and find the ones I liked the best and arrange them. I watched his life unfold from cute little boy in Toronto to this kind of dorky kid growing up in Montreal to his rather awkward teenage years here in Castleton. I watched as the pictures detailed him meeting my mom, their wedding, my birth. I watched his life unfold in pictures.

It was easy to a point. Then I couldn't do it any more. I was getting to the later years, past the 80's into the 90s. Pictures of events that I remember clearly. This is where it gets hard. Because the story of his life is nearing the end.

Once I put the those pictures in and write the comments beside them, all I have left is the last few pages. The ones that I'm saving for the article in the paper, his obituary, and for the programs from the funeral. Then I have to write the end to his story, explain how it all came to an end one snowy night. I don't think I'm strong enough to do it, because once I do then he's really gone.

Oh, I know that's silly, that he's already gone. That some album isn't going to make the difference, but I can't help but feel that way. That as long as I don't admit, as long as I don't write in down on paper, don't add it to the story of his life, then it's not real and he can still come back.

Except, he's not coming back. I know that. Really, I do. I just have a such hard time accepting it. After all, I'm used to getting what I want and I've never wanted anything more than for him to come back.

It's been almost a year. The first year is almost finished. People say that it's the hardest year. I don't know, I haven't experienced any of the others yet, but this year has been the hardest year of my life. Some days, it was all I could do to get up in the morning.

The first year isn't over yet, so I can't do a full analyze set, though I'm sure that will come. All I can say now is that I wouldn't want to live this last year over again for anything.

That's not true, I'd give anything to have those last few weeks with my father back. I wouldn't want to go through the pain of losing him all over agian, but I'd love to see him one last time. To hug him, to hear his voice. To tell him that I loved him, to hear him say the same thing. I just want one more moment with him. One more 'Daddy hug', one more "Chucklehead'". I just want to see my father again.