On the morning of April 1st, 5 years ago today, my dad died in a plane crash.
That dreadful day, and many of the days that followed, were the worst of my life. Seeing the smoldering wreckage of what used to be your dad's beloved plane plastered all over the news isn't something I would wish on my enemies.
In short, it changed me forever. I can never go back to the person I once was.
And I'll tell you something else: time doesn't heal these wounds.
The moments of profound grief; those instances that hit you so hard you feel like you've been punched in the gut? They still happen.
Maybe not as often, but they are every bit as painful now as they were 5 years ago.
Ordinarily, here is where I would write something pithy or sarcastic, just to keep this from getting to damn depressing.
It's just not in me today.
Today, I'm throwing a pity party for myself and mourning all that I've lost.
Not just a great dad and truly wonderful man, but the grandpa that my boys and nephews never got to know.
The father-daughter dance at my wedding that I never got to have.
The countless emails he would have sent me, (when he should have been working,) that I'll never get to read.
The sound of his laugh.
I'll never get over this.
I'll always be haunted by this day.
There will always be a dad-shaped hole in my heart.
And that really fucking sucks.