You're gone six months today. It's a Wednesday, just like six months ago. I couldn't sleep last night, just like six months ago. I thought that by now the days would have been a bit more jumbled up and it would be a Monday or a Friday or, well, just not the same day of the week like the cosmos is trying to rub it in.

This has been the longest, most terrible six months of my life— and that's not entirely due to you being gone. But knowing that you aren't around , that you can't be around, renders me thin skinned and unable to cope with the little shit (and the not so little shit) sometimes. There are things I'd ask you about, or jokes I'd share with you, those little interactions that break up the monotony or the horribleness of whatever life is flinging at the moment. It's weird not to have that with you anymore. It's weird that you're not walking around on this planet anymore. It's weird that I'll never get/have to yell at you for doing stupid shit anymore. This whole thing is weird.

You would tell me that sometimes, life is weird. Or maybe that's a thing I would say to you and I'm putting words in your mouth again.

I wonder about the afterlife a lot lately. That's only natural. I wonder if you've gotten to be with those who passed before you, what you would say to our parents and what they would say to you. I'm jealous of the enormous hug Angela would give you (right after she smacked the shit out of you. That's a given.). Grannie Annie would have "beat you with the bloody end of your arm," as she so often threatened in life, "for being your father all over again." Only you never did pick her up and turn her around mid rant like he used to. There were differences. Though not so many at the end; I compared your death certificates.

I'm not sure what the point of this letter is. To mark the time, sure. To tell you how mad I am all the time? Maybe. To make me feel better, sure, someday. Though better is relative, and what I really want is to feel like myself again. I don't think that can happen, though. My old self didn't have to cope with this. So, a new self will have to rise up from the ashes. Eventually.