One Year

The one year anniversary of my father dying is the end of the year of ‘first time without’ milestones. The veil between reality and memories is threadbare right now. This time last year, he was standing right here. This time last year, we were all watching a movie. This time last year, mom called me. It’s an inescapable torrent of emotions that we all endure in our own ways.

A few days ago, I prepped my planner for the coming week.

Next week

A photo posted by Cathy McCaughan (@cathymccaughan) on

Saturday, I spent the day at a WGI event. The entire family was there at the beginning of the day. After A performed, everyone took off to do other activities and my mother stayed to keep me company. Out of the blue, one of the performances had Jonathan Pryce reading Dylan Thomas as their performance music.

I came unglued.

I’m sure their routine was lovely, but I was too busy trying to maintain a false facade to notice it. While we’re all haunted by my father’s ghost, my mother is definitely not on ‘put an extra plate at the table’ terms with the ghost. She’s still constantly sweeping up the shards of her shattered heart. “It never stops hurting.”

So, with my planner as some kind of absurd art therapy, I will get past this week. It will be like walking in two timelines simultaneously, but this too shall pass.

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