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Three Months

That's how long you've been gone.

By Jordanna RomanoPublished 5 years ago 2 min read
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I pass your old house all the time, and like I did when you were alive, I look to see if you car is in the driveway.

It isn't, and hasn't been for months.

Yeah, you haven't been here since November, but you moved down to the city in July, an hour away, since you could no longer care for yourself. The cancer took over, consuming you, and it turned you into a stranger.

I still think about how we went to that Super Bowl parade last February. We had such a great time, even though it was freezing. The cancer was manageable, you could still live your life. Who knew that just 10 months later, you would be gone?

I can't believe it, and honestly, I still can't. After visiting you in the hospital and nursing home all those times, I would sit in the car and just cry. Cry at the fact that I was losing you, the man I considered my father for almost two decades.

You were the first person, that I really loved and cared about that passed, so how I felt once you did kinda caught me by surprise. It worried me a bit. Was this normal, having my chest physically hurt from this loss?

It was. My heart was hurting. I was hurting.

I remember seeing a blue casket get lowered six feet under the ground at the burial. It's weird that the man who was barely there mentally, the man who gave me the tightest hug before I left the nursing home a month earlier, was now in that blue casket.

As much as I want you still here, you were in too much pain to stay. You're in a better place now, you're free.

As I type this, I'm wearing one of your old sweatshirts. It still smells like you, some cologne that I don't know the name of. I'm sad, and it makes me wanna cry, but I have to realize that you don't want me to cry and get all upset because of you. You would want me to go out and enjoy life, just like you did. You were okay with how your life turned out and you weren't afraid of dying. I don't know many people who think that.

It's been three months since you passed, and for years to come, every time I pass your old house, I'll still see if your car is in the driveway.

grief
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About the Creator

Jordanna Romano

22 year old mixed writer just trying to get through life.

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