In April of 2009 I wrote a short bit about the memory of watching my dad die. June 2, 2013 will mark 18 years since he passed away. To my own astonishment I've lived far longer without him than I did with him. And yes, every time I think of him, my heart skips a beat, and the little pieces I've tried to mend back together crumble a bit again. This will be a lifelong process I am certain. The ebb and flow of time and experience has taught me this cycle will never end. And truthfully, that's okay. I don't need it to end. If it were to cease, I would cease to feel, and worse yet, I would have locked away all the memories of my beloved dad. The important part is what I do with all this now. Shall I let it destroy me? It could even all these years later. I could allow those small cracks to shatter my carefully piece-mealed heart. Or I could go the other way and enshroud my heart like a fortress. Certainly that's the route I'm more inclined to go. Why? Because I'm selfish. I'm afraid. Scratch that. I'm terrified. I have no idea what to do with intense emotion. I have no place to put it and, shockingly, no frame of reference for how to handle it. (To any of my friends to whom I've ever seemed unsympathetic, truly I am sorry for being such an ass clown when it comes to this sort of thing.) I'm older now than when I wrote that entry (obviously I know). But time, as Patty Griffin says, "will do the talkin' and years will do the walkin'. I'll just find a comfy spot and I'll wait it out." That my friends is pretty damn close to what I've done. I have protected myself, kept people at arm's length, never gotten involved with anyone so deeply it hurt too much to let them go, and you know what? Now here I am at the ripe old age of thirty-freaking-two and I'm still clueless about to have a relationship. I'm beginning to think it's about time I learned. Comments, thoughts, suggestions??? What does anyone else think about this??