Eight Years Now

It's the eighth anniversary of my dad's death today.  It's been such a strange week, what with the tragic news from Boston and Texas consuming the news reports and the weather being all over the place (it's warm, it's cold, it's dry, it's wet, it's winter, it's spring).  I've felt rather off-kilter for the past couple of weeks. I thought it was because I was sick last week but I'm feeling much better this week and things still feel just a little strange.  Nothing major, just not quite in the normal groove.  Distracted, slight disoriented, never quite sure what day of the week or time of day it is, that sort of thing.  Adding to that sense of the surreal were the scenes on the TV this morning of armed police officers swarming through deserted residential neighbourhoods in Boston.  It didn't occur to me until this morning that perhaps my body is more tuned in to the anniversary and the feelings associated with it than my mind is.  Mentally, it does seem easier to handle as each year passes, although it is still a sad day and I can't quite forget its significance on the calendar.  Maybe I'm just used to missing him now, it has become a part of whom I am.  Like it or not, it has become familiar and unchangeable.

Dad with the ever sweet Murphy,
I miss them both.