Over one year has passed since my dad went away. I saw him today.
March 5, 2015
Today you appeared during my meditation. This was a first. You called me Bushga, and you were worried about my broken arm. We thought on it together for a while, and then I told you I would be fine. That seemed to change things because you appeared in your military uniform. I tried to tell you the war was over but you were confused.
In my mind, I thought about the night you died, to see if that would orient you. Instead, you began looking around for the men fighting, insisting you were a Marine.
I thought about Jude, but you didn’t respond, so I don’t know if all that stuff about reuniting with loved ones is true.
I wanted to write this immediately after waking, but I allowed something to distract me. So I might have forgotten a few things already. I’m still sensing you in your uniform and that’s fine. But you also seem confused. Sometimes I feel you linking to me. I’ll be here for reassurance.
You are gone from the earthly realm. This is the first day I have sensed you since your passing on February 10th 2014. February was a bad month for everyone. At first I was okay. The one year anniversary is just a number on the calendar, but lately it’s been troubled in my mind.
I’m typing with one hand because I spent all my pain-free elbow time online, so I have to stop. Oh, I forgot to tell you I fell down the stairs and broke my elbow on February 21st. What does a date on a calendar mean to you? Hopefully nothing. But I'm still stuck here, tethered to numbers.
Mom is okay. You made the right choice when you moved. She has friends and she’s active, probably more than me.
Don’t worry about a thing. I think you’ll be with me more often now that we’ve found each other. You never did like seeing my emotions, so it’s time for you to disconnect because I’m crying. See you soon.
You are not present in any of the pictures I have of you, which makes sense. Still, I cherish them. I miss you, even though I know you’re not really gone. I just can’t see you or touch you. Well, I couldn't even before you passed because we didn’t live near each other. But I knew you were there to touch and see.
We’re all going to be just fine, Dad. You provided for everyone, and Mom is in a partnership with me.