People pretty commonly say they miss someone every day, even many years after they've died. I think I've said it myself, but for me it's not true. I don't miss Dad every day, and it's a good thing too. When I do miss him, my chest starts to implode, my throat tightens and I sob hopelessly. After the tears is the inevitable headache. It's exactly like I'm back in that Thursday in November fifteen years ago. If I missed him every day, I'd be of no use to anyone.
Time hasn't softened or mellowed the pain, it's just allowed me to put it away most of the time. For some reason, though, I've been missing him a lot lately. Maybe it's because he's got four grandchildren now. The youngest is starting to talk. It's such a cool thing to watch language happen. The eldest is shaping up to be a pretty good musician. Dad would have been so proud, and probably claimed the credit somehow. The next oldest, I think, would have adored him. Their senses of humour would have connected and I suspect Charlie would have just been comfortable in his company. Grandchild number three is starting school and the journey to being a real person. They all have to do it without him. I think this is the bit where I shout "It's not fair!" and shake my fist at the universe.
Maybe also, it's because the kids are getting older. I don't need to be constantly alert to where they all are and what they're doing, so I have more brainspace for thoughts not entirely connected to keeping all the balls in the air. I'm not sure I've got the emotional reserves to keep this up though.
It's not that I can't think of him or talk about him, it's that I can't miss him. Not too often. I want to just wish him back into our lives. Granted, Mum & David (her partner) might find adjusting to a poly relationship a little tricky, but while I'm wishing people back from the dead, I think this is a minor detail.
Dad, I'm missing you, and it hurts.