September 5th was the second anniversary of my father's death.
Circumstances aligned so that I found myself driving his old truck around. Since he isn't here to keep it in good working condition, it's not really all that reliable and we try to avoid driving it most of the time...but it somehow makes me feel closer to him to be driving the truck. He was so fond of his truck, and some of the few hazy memories I have of him as a healthy man involve driving around in the truck with him when I was a very young child.
Of course, he did manage to drive for a while even after he became disabled. He was really quite surprisingly active and capable in the first few years after the stroke. If only the downward spiral hadn't continued...
I can honestly say that I've healed and moved on. I still think about him all the time, but not with the same wistful ache in my heart that I once had.
And yet, there are still certain times... While I was talking to a friend about the anniversary last night, I still shed some tears. I think there will always be certain moments when the right button gets pushed and I realize the pain is still there in some form.
I don't like early September...but I know better days are coming.