This is beautiful for the emotions it evokes. Billy, an intellectual man, takes time to just be honestly emotional in writing. Leaves the reader not thinking too much and feeling a lot.
I’m in the bathroom when the grief descends. I am caught defenseless. One minute, I’m thinking about a blog post, feeling annoyed by a phone call; the next, an old memory comes to me, one I haven’t replayed in months, if not years, and I find myself lying on my bathroom and sobbing.
It has been six years since my dad died. It’s a fact as much a part of my reality as the rain or sun. It simply is. Thus it is something I can go many days without fully noticing. When there is occasion for me to talk about him, or his absence, I draw from my repository of well-worn dad anecdotes, and can usually get through them with the ease one feels recounting the outcome of a sports game or describing the weather.
Not so on this night. It could be fatigue; I really haven’t been sleeping…
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