Woke up this morning (at the ungodly hour of 5:50am, THANK YOU DAYLIGHT SAVINGS YOU UNGRATEFUL, HORRIBLE BITCH) to cold and clouds and rain. Which I love, honestly. Having grown up in a dry, arid climate, I crave rain, it refreshes me.

The weather outside was pretty spot on considering how I was feeling, how I’ve been feeling since the beginning of the month. While a part of me, a very large part, absolutely adores and anticipates and embraces the beginning of this season, the holidays and celebration and joy, there’s another part that dreads it. Deeply. Because November signifies the start of the hardest time of the year for my siblings and I: 2 years ago, it was the beginning of the end of my dad. And 2 years is, as it turns out, not enough time for that pain to lessen, even a little bit.

Tomorrow is my dad’s birthday. Thanksgiving was his favorite, FAVORITE holiday. Christmas is so much about family and tradition that his absence is felt a million times over. And 2 weeks after Christmas, the anniversary of his diagnosis. 2 weeks after that, the anniversary of his death. There’s so much sadness, so much pain, that it’s hard, so, so, so hard, to be happy. To be jolly. To enjoy turkey (he fried ours every year, I will never again eat it that way) and tinsel and presents and the spirit of the holidays. Because he should be here, and he’s not. It’s bad enough that cancer took away the most important man in my life (aside from Tom), but to rub salt in the ultimate wound, that motherfucker had to do it during the holidays. Just one more reason to hate cancer.

There is so much happiness around the holidays, especially with Dylan, that I will make an effort to focus on that this year. But it’s going to be hard. Last year, the pain was still so fresh, the gaping hole in my heart so raw, that I didn’t really, fully appreciate the absence of him in my life. This year, I’ve felt it, on every holiday, every birthday, everyday. This year, I’m not trying to reconcile what happened anymore. It’s reconciled, I get it, he’s gone. This year, it’s real.

I wish it wasn’t so real, this year. I wish it wasn’t so hard. I wish he was still here, everyday of every month of every year. But especially this year, this month, today and tomorrow and a week from now and next month and forever, until I’m ready for him to be gone again. Until I’m prepared for him to be gone.

I wish it wasn’t so real.