There we are, ten years ago. Me and Dad, in ash-form. Is this an anniversary of his death? What do they call this? A “Death-day?” If it is the opposite of a “Birthday” then that would make sense. But nothing about death makes sense to me.
For two years straight I was unable to process my emotions, breaking down constantly — if something reminded me of him, I’d cry. If I wasn’t thinking about him and suddenly remembered he no longer existed on this earth, I’d cry. If I was feeling any emotion whatsoever, I’d cry. Because I knew I couldn’t share it with him. This came in handy whenever I did have to cry for a movie (and in the last decade, I’ve cried in plenty) but it wasn’t so helpful whenever I was standing on line at Trader Joe’s, surrounded by strangers, clutching six packages of ginger chews, tears flowing steadily down my face.
And then, around year three of his Death-day, it wasn’t so scary. I still missed him but the sting was gone. I still thought about him every day, but it was cool! My father and I weren’t really that close, and yet, I felt so intimately connected with him after his passing.
Here are 10 ways I cultivated that relationship.
- He became my muse. I wrote about him constantly. I wrote him into I Will Make You Mine and dedicated the entire film to him.
