Sam’s Journal of Survival

I Miss My Dad

011326 This journal is fiction. The voice you’re reading is a character, not the author.
I Miss My Dad

It’s Tuesday.

Today has felt heavy from the moment I woke up. Not sharp or panicked. Just sad. Maybe more than sad. Hopeless feels closer.

I keep thinking about how carefully constructed my life is. From the outside, it probably looks ideal. Stable job. Nice home. Routines that work. Everything in its place.

Only I know how much effort it takes to keep it that way.

Nothing is ever going to be perfect for me. I know that sounds dramatic, but it doesn’t feel dramatic. It feels settled. Like something I’ve already accepted, even if I don’t want to.

When I feel like this, I wish I could call my dad.

That thought came out of nowhere and stayed with me all day.

Calling him isn’t simple. It never has been. I can’t just dial a number and hear his voice. I would have to call his office line, the one that’s open all the time. Someone would answer. I would tell them I need my dad to call me. Then they would activate whatever process they use to locate him.

Eventually, he would call back. Or someone would call and tell me he would reach out in a day or two.

That delay matters.

By the time he calls, the feeling will have passed or settled into something quieter. That’s usually how it works. I don’t call him when I’m like this because I don’t want to explain something that may already feel different by the time he hears it.

Still, I think about it.

I think about how he would listen without interrupting. How he wouldn’t rush to fix anything. How he would remind me, gently, that feeling hopeless doesn’t mean I am hopeless.

I miss that steadiness tonight.

I went through the motions today. I worked. I answered questions. I did what was expected of me. No one noticed anything was off. I’m good at that.

But inside, everything felt muted. Like I was moving through the day behind glass.

I don’t know what fixes this feeling. I don’t even know if it needs fixing. Maybe it just needs to be acknowledged.

Tonight, I’m letting myself feel it without trying to solve it. I made dinner. I fed the cat. I locked the doors.

I didn’t call my dad.

But I thought about him. And for now, that will have to be enough.