I turn 35 in two weeks.
My father is gone and this year I will celebrate without hearing his voice for the first time in my life.
The summer has been surprisingly hard in my grief process--the holidays were not so bad--there were so many distractions. But when June hit and the school ended, grief smacked me in the face like a board.
My Dad is dead. I won't scour the Farmer's Market searching for the perfect Jersey Ugly tomato for him this year. We won't share tomato sandwiches for lunch. There will be no family days at the beach--no trips to his beloved boardwalk. I'll make an enormous batch of cole slaw and it will go unfinished: my Dad ate cole slaw like it was water.
And it is very sad for me.