This is the first of two “five year” posts I’ll write in the next three weeks. It’s been five years since my father died after a too-brief battle with glioblastoma multiforme.
For some reason, it’s hitting me harder this year than the last couple. I don’t know if it’s because my life was in such upheaval last year or because it’s a milestone year or a combination of all these things.
I miss him so much. It breaks my heart that he never got to meet his grandson. I would give almost anything to see them together and eavesdrop on that conversation.
I’ve done nanowrimo every year since he died (except the first year–the PPD was still holding on too tight that year), and just published the first book I wrote after his death.
Even though the book has more adult language and strong sexual content than he probably would’ve preferred (especially in a book written by his daughter), I know he would’ve been so happy to see my name in print (by the way dad, I am the highest ranked Cissell on Amazon…nyah, nyah, nyah).
When I was a sophomore in college and having a really hard time, he gave me my first dragon. It’s been with me ever since. He took that dragon and slayed it in his fiction, I took its strength and made it my own.
Without him, I wouldn’t be the woman I am today. It’s been a hard year, but I’m surviving, and I owe a lot of that to my dad.
I wish he was here to see what I’ve accomplished and see how I made the dragons my bitch.
I wish he was here to meet my son–my dad would be blown away by the mind on my kid.
I wish he was here so I could call him up and have him tell me everything’s going to be okay.
I wish he was here.
I wish he was here so I could tell him one more time how much I love him. At least I can tell everyone else…