Today, 25 years ago, my father died. It no longer feels like yesterday. Not even like last week. It still doesn’t feel like 25 years though.
It’s the second year in a row that I’ve started something on March 22nd, so when April 22nd came, it was the anniversary of my achievement, rather than the day my dad died. I guess I was trying (unconsciously, of course) to turn April 22nd into a good day, and it was easy to fool myself since there were always good reasons to choose March 22nd as a day to start things. Last year I chose to quit smoking on that day, because it was the first day of spring. This year I decided to start exercising, walking daily, and eating healthy (ok, let’s call it by its name: I’m on a freakin' diet.) March 22nd was the day Sean left, so I figured it would be a good day to start.
Over the years I’ve been quite creative in my attempts to make April 22nd into something else. Five years ago I changed my ticket from Thailand on the very last minute so April 22nd became the day I left Thailand and the last day I spent with ‘E’ – a guy who at the time I thought I was madly in love with (and who ended up becoming born again Jew – see February 26th post about me running into him in Tel Aviv.) I guess I wanted something new for April 22nd. A different kind of heartache to replace the one I’ve been carrying around for twenty years. Change it up a little.
One of my best friends lost her dad a few years ago on May 13th. “Sean and I met on May 13th,” I mentioned to her last week, and she sighed heavily, annoyed. “Are you mad that Sean and I met on May 13th?” I asked. “Did we steal your May 13th?” She laughed and nodded.
I really tried to make today the day I celebrated a month of my diet, but I couldn’t. Instead, I spent it eating ice cream and chocolate, slacking on my walks (unless you call wandering aimlessly in an air conditioned mall while wearing my sun glasses and eating ice cream - a walk), fighting with my brother and crying. I ended up feeling sick to my stomach. (The ice cream? The mall?)
It doesn’t work. It never worked. April 22nd would always be the day my father died. I can give it a new outfit, slap some makeup on it, and call it September, but it will always be that day.
And that’s all I have to say about it
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The adventures of Ayelet in the Holy Land (and everywhere else)
7 comments:
baby, your blog kicks ass. i've been neglectful and haven't read it for a while. But that just makes it better, because when i came back there was more to read. I love you babe, and I love your blog too.
Thanks baby!!! It means a lot to me, that you enjoy it. Missing you tons!
Yes, Sean's right, it kicks serious ass.
Wish I coulda bought that ice cream for you (and one for me too) and walked with you.
be well, dearest
Eufemia dearest!!! Missing you so much! Soon we'll be reunited.
Yes! I am so excited!
You know it's weird, so far apart and we still write about similar things - or maybe I was being telepathic. Because on the evening of the 22nd in India, I was crying about the future impending loss of my father. I thought that was odd, when I read your blog, and I felt such an ache all day, that day.
I'll make us an ice cream dessert for the reunion, but we can only eat it after we go for a hike.
Wow, Eufemia, i got goosebumps reading this. I'm so touched and amazed. So yes, ice cream, limonana with Arak and definitely a walk.... Love you!
Hello there (soon to be home)lovely lady,,,thanks for the comment on my blog about that fella...I contacted him and I will see how it goes. You have been an awesome inpiration for me...thanks neighbour...see you soon
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