My brother took this picture and posted it to Facebook.

I don’t generally talk a lot about my dad or his death because A) everyone has lost someone close to them so nobody ever feels like someone else’s loss is more significant than their own (i.e. nobody cares) and B) I’ll never, ever be okay with it.  People don’t understand that.  I’m not looking for pity.  I loved my dad, he was my best friend, and he had a painful and dramatic death that scarred me.  A part of me was lost in the sudden emptiness.  I am a shadow of what I used to be.  Nobody drew the best parts of me out as well as my father did; now they’re lost somewhere that I can’t find anymore.

These words are for me, not really for you.  But it’s my blog, so you just happen to get the opportunity to eavesdrop on my soul from time to time.

My grandparents had flowers sent to the grave for Christmas.  I have only been to the grave a couple of times.  I hope to have a Dia de los Muertos party there next time I’m in the area in November.  Even if it’s just me, the stone, and some beer.

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