Wounds

It surprises me that after over a year, my father's death can still hurt so bad sometimes. Normally, I'm okay, it's a healing wound. Not healed yet, but kind of scabby. It can still bleed when scratched or picked at, but it hurts less than it did when it was raw.

Yesterday was one of those times when it got scratched open and it was done inadverntantly. I ran into an old friend of the family who happens to be wokring where I am now. It had been years since I had seen him and in fact I hadn't recognized him at first.

That part was actually funny. I was talking to one of my friends at work and realizing that the two guys sitting next to her wouldn't know what I was talking about, I explained my remark about the "middle of nowhere" saying that I lived in Castleton. Troy, the old friend of the family, informed me that he knew that since he had known me since I was a baby.

I, of course, was immediately embarassed, though still had no clue who he was until he told me his name, at which point I felt even worse. Since I really had known him all my life. He's about 10 years older me and grew up in Castleton. So it was kind of embarrassing not to recognize him, though it had been about five years since I'd seen him.

Anyway, Troy asked what I'd been doing and I answered politely. Then, this is where the pain comes in, he casually asked "how are Rick and Wanda? I haven't seen them in a while." God, taht hurt, having someone casually ask how my father was.

Of course, I had to explain that Daddy was dead, that he'd been killed in a car accident last year. Troy was horrified of course and quite shocked and dismayed. I mean, no one likes to hear that someone they knew is now dead.

This isn't the first time it's happened, but it's alwyas so hard. I mean, I guess it's natural that there are a few people who didn't hear about what happened and who will thus, casually mention my father, not knowing the pain they inflict.