I'm doing better. I still have my moments, but they're less severe. For the most part, I just avoid thinking about it too much. Not that I avoid thinking about it, but that I try to avoid thinking about it too much... as in more than I can handle. I came in to work today and saw Tom, who's still at U of M and only comes in one or two days a week. I hadn't seen him since my father's death. I think people feel obligated to say something even though there really isn't anything to say. They express their sympathy and then it's your turn to say something... but, again, there really isn't anything to say. Thanks for keeping me in your thoughts. Or thanks for your sympathy. Not that I don't appreciate all of that... I certainly do, but it just feels weird saying thank you at a time when you're trying to deal with as best you can such an enormous loss. So, anyway, I walked in, saw him, there was a brief moment of awkward silence, then, before he could think of something to say, I asked him if he'd been keeping up with 24. And then we talked about 24 a little bit. I didn't feel at all satisfied by this. In fact, I felt pretty guilty about it, as if I was trivializing my father's death by talking about something as insignificant as a tv show. It's a lose-lose sort of thing, I guess.
I talked to my brother yesterday. He said he was in some class where they were going to make something and he thought about making my father a wallet. Then there's that "oh" reaction you get when you realize again he's no longer there. It's like it's ingrained in your knowledge of the world that he's there. He always has been... is it really that strange to assume he'd always be there? I've had so many of those "oh" moments, too. I still catch myself trying to think of what to get my father for Christmas. Or seeing something he might like and thinking I should pick it up for him. Or thinking "I should stop by Dad's on the way home and see how he's doing...... oh... yeah."