A Dozen Years

Today is the 12th anniversary of my dad's death. I'm putting it down because it is not because I have anything noteworthy to say about it, yet I feel it should be commemorated somehow and today this is the best I can do.

The first year after his passing we had a big shindig at my mom's house. Padre Ramos who is a priest and a good friend of my mom's, came over and held a mass. There was food, family, and remembrances of him. The next year we had an early-morning mass that my mom and I attended along with a couple of other family members that could get away from the office on a weekday. Since then, I don't recall any other reunion, not even two years ago when he hit the decade mark. My mom always holds a mass in his honor and goes to the grave site to put some flowers down.

This time of year has in past years been difficult for me. Subconsciously I know that the day is approaching and I start to feel blue a couple of days before and on the actual day there's tears that flow throughout. I have none of that today or in days past. While I refuse to read too much into it or try to get to the root of the problem, if that's what it is, I do find it strange.

The day is still vivid in my mind, like it was yesterday. But today I feel like an outsider standing in front of a window looking in. I feel removed, not unlike the way I felt that day and the days that followed. I was busy, tired, and numb. I remember sitting at his funeral mass and thinking that I should be crying but my eyes were dry and my heart felt empty. It wasn't until he was laid to rest and the house that was filled with people just a couple of days before also became empty, that I deflated like a balloon and was able to finally cry.

The tears came for many, many days after that, as I suspect will be the case this time.

Descansa en Paz, Papi.