9 Years, 363 Days

Nine years, 363 days ago I was still a 21 year old kid. I was entering my last semester of University, living with three other girls in the student ghetto, and was having so much fun. We went outside and had a snowball fight with our neighbours that day. We spent our evenings at the campus bar. We worried about things like boyfriends, final papers, and who wasn't doing their share of the dishes.

Everything changed two days later when I got that horrible phone call. On Saturday, it will be ten years since I became an S.O.S. Ten years since my Dad made a really stupid decision. Ten years since I learned that sudden traumatic grief can actually make your guts physically ache; the kind of grief that has been said to be equivalent or greater to losing a family member in a murder or violent crime...except you can't blame some villain, only the person you loved so much.

I've tried pretty successfully to understand and forgive his actions and try to use this horrific loss to make sure I live every moment to its fullest. The anniversaries are still hard and big happy events always have a moment of bittersweetness to them because he isn't there to share in them. He has missed so many big moments of my life and my sibling's lives...by choice. He never got to enjoy being a grandfather, or know that his first grandson's middle name is Abraham.

Over the years, some neat things have happened around the anniversary of this dreaded day. The first anniversary, I was in Turkey and I couldn't hack being in the outside world so I spent it inside a hostel room reading a novel I'd found in the common area. I told my brother about it later and he couldn't believe it...because that was the last book my Dad was reading and they had talked about it in their last conversation.

The next year, I'd decided that I really needed to find some apple pie as that was Dad's favourite dessert. I was heading to my Arts Admin classes at Humber and at 8am, there was an apple pie sitting in the cafeteria...never seen before or after at that time of day...so of course I had some for breakfast.

Yeah, I know...simple and explainable as a weird coincidence...but still weird, yes?

I keep a little photo album of snapshots of Dad that I put together the week after he died in my nightstand. This morning as I was dressing for work and Felix was playing with his toys, I noticed that he became quiet. I turned around and saw that he was systematically removing books from my nightstand. He had the photo album out, had taken a photo out of its sleeve, and started carrying it towards me.

"That's Opa" I said.

"OPA!!!" Felix said...just like that. We'd been trying to get him to say Grandma or "Gamma" for the last few weeks.

Somehow that little moment made this anniversary I'd been dreading so much better...and a hopeful part of me wants to take it as a sign that he is somewhere around me, keeping an eye out. I know how silly this may sound, and I did just finish reading The Lovely Bones...but it does make me feel better.