Reason #564 why grief sucks: sometimes it hits out of nowhere.
I just got out of the shower. While I was in there and washing my face, suddenly I remembered this project I had due in sixth grade. We’d just finished reading The Secret of NIMH (a great book I intend to reread over Christmas break) in my Literature class, and we had to do a diorama of their little house.
My dad ALWAYS helped with school projects; he probably really did too much for me, I think because he hadn’t been able to be around his first children as much as he was around me. But, anyway, I did do some work on the project, I promise.
But to help me with this project, he took little pieces of wood (he was a patternmaker so he made all the furniture in my room — even my bed — with heavy-duty wood that will last FOREVER, sort of like Amish furniture) and made tiny bookshelves, tiny chairs, and a tiny table. Then, for books, he cut the tops of legal pads and glued the “loose” edges and they made little books by themselves. Then he stacked them, having some leaning on others and some shelves full.
It was the coolest thing ever, and I’m sure we have pictures somewhere, but God only knows where.
But anyway, that just randomly popped into my head and I have no idea why and I almost started crying while loofa-ing my face. It made me so sad, because I don’t know if I ever properly thanked him. At that time I was hormonal and bitchy and miserable and so I don’t know if my pride let me thank him then — I probably got mad or something, even though everyone loved it at school. But I just wish I could thank him for little stuff like that.
It’s so stupid, it probably doesn’t even matter.
I just shouldn’t have acted like such a bitch to him at that time. Apparently he would say to my mom, “What did I do?” and god that makes me feel so guilty.
Anyway, I think all of this is brought on by some combination of exhaustion and just general melancholy over winter like I talked about in a post on another blog last week.
But it really sucks. And people have told me “oh he knew” or “he knows” or “you can still tell him” and yeah, all that might be true, but we don’t know what happens after life. Maybe there’s nothing. Maybe he can hear me if I talk to him. But I can’t tell him in person, right now, and that’s the worst.
Maybe I’ll make a diorama over the break. I think that would be therapeutic. I don’t know what it would be of, but that doesn’t matter. I’ll figure it out as I go along.
Isn’t that all we can do?