Daddy, if you were here

Sometimes I forget the way you smelled. I forget the way you looked before you were sick. I forget your favorite food. I forget the size of your hands. I forget how much I loved you.

I did not used to do that. I used to lament your loss every day, but as each long day has gone on, as my life has gone on without you and as more and more tragedy and heartbreak has struck my life, it has eased the pain of one of the biggest losses of my life — comparable only to the loss of my innocence just months ago.

But when I sit down and really think about you, it's not so easy to forget. In fact, I remember every little detail. I remember the scent of your fresh cologne and Dial soap and Crew hair gel as you'd walk out into the living room freshly showered combing your hair and buckling your belt into the third hole. I remember sitting on the couch and watching you tie your brown leather shoes with ease. I remember your thick head of brown hair — hair that caused a lot of controversy! Controversy with you because you were always scared you were going bald. Controversy for me because with your and mom's dark hair, dark eyes and olive skin, I always had an inkling of a feeling that I must have been adopted. I think the thing I loved most about you though was your big rough hands — so calloused from your years of manual labor.

I remember when mom wouldn't allow us to have TV as a child. I remember our weekly retreats to the bookstore. I'd pick out three of four books high above a typical child's reading level and have them devoured in a matter of a few days. Sometimes you didn't really believe I had read all of them that quickly, but you'd buy me new ones when I asked anyway. My books were always about romance, fictional worlds and far away places. You'd often find some book about Aliens or wander off to the music section to pick out some classic rock CDs. Even then we were more alike than I think either one of us realized.

I have a real loyalty to my mother, and sometimes when I put you up on this pedestal, I hear her sometimes harsh words in the back of my head that make it harder for me. But no. I'm old enough to really think for myself now, and now I really know. I really know that we had so much in common and that so much of who I am today is because of you. I never appreciated it before. And sometimes I get so angry that you can't be here with me. Would I have made some of the mistakes that I've made if YOU would have been here?

Would some other tragedies I've experienced lately been easier if you were here? Oh, I'm sure. When my heart was broken by any number of males, would it have been easier to have my #1 man here to hold me and tell me that I am the most beautiful wonderful creature in the world? Oh, it would have been. And now I must just assume that you think all of these things as you look down on me from Heaven. Are you there? Are you watching me? What's it like, Dad? Are you proud? Or are you sickened? Sickened by all my mistakes, sickened by watching me do some of the same things you did, sickened by lack of motivation lately? Sickened by the way I give in so easily and the way I let other people use and take advantage of me? Sickened by the way I have slacked in the religious aspects of my life? Sickened by distance from the family? Sickened by the mess I've become? Sickened that I couldn't ever cry? Sickened that I stuff all of my huge emotions and problems into a little bottle that is already full and ready to bust?

Or can you be proud? Is it possible? Proud that I have learned from my mistakes? Proud that even though I have made some of the same mistakes as you, that they were all to a much lesser extent? Proud that although I had a period of un-motivation, that I picked up the pieces slowly and got my shit together? Proud that I am working on my personality and the way I deal with the people in my life who use me? Proud that I am learning to vocalize my distaste at the right times in a tasteful manner? Proud that I am trying to slowly get back to Bible study and go to church with mom? Proud that I am spending time with Grandma and have weekly dinners with mom and my new step-dad? Proud that I became a mess and am cleaning it up. Proud that just the other night, I laid on the kitchen floor and sobbed? Proud that right before my bottle of problems exploded, I took out the little ones, slowly, one by one, and started dealing with them like an adult?

God, I hope so. Because if you aren't up there proud of me and seeing everything I am going through and the great person I am trying to become, then I don't know who is. I don't think Mom understands...I love her more than anyone else in this world...but I don't know if she gets it, and I try to make her understand.

I told her that this year everything has changed. My whole life is different and nothing is the same. Nothing will ever be the same. I told her I was depressed because of that. I was crying out for her to listen to me and to help me. She just asked me "Why?" WHY?

WHY? Why do I do think everything in my life is different?

Who the heck AM I now? I've changed my major, I had two huge life-changing experiences this summer, I've changed my friends, I've changed so many of my goals in life and have been working to even change my personality. Nothing is the same and I do not know how else to explain that. It's not necessarily bad, it's just SCARY. I know I am changing most things for the better... but I am also entering unknown territory — completely unknown and I also don't recognize myself when I look in the mirror sometimes. Not that I dislike what I see, but I just am not sure who or what exactly I am turning into. All I know is that I am trying to change for the better... for the most part it is working and I like who I am becoming, but there is still a huge part of me who aches for that old me. The old carefree 16-year-old Erika... but that's the thing, you can't stay 16 forever and you have to learn to grow... and I think I am growing a lot. So quickly that it is confusing me and leaving me either too emotional to understand what I am feeling, or somewhat emotionless.

Ooh man... my head hurts. I think that's enough for tonight.

I'm not emo, although every single one of my blog posts screams that. This is where I vent about sad things though. When one is happy, they tend to live in that moment and not think about writing out his/her emotions. But when one is sad or upset, then that is the time to organize and look at the thoughts and figure things out. :)