I finally took down the pictures of my dad. Both of them were of him holding me as a baby. One was with the two of us, and the other was with him and my mom. We all look happy in them.
I also took down the birthday cards from my wall. They happened to all be in the general vicinity of each other. I’m the kind of person who saves every last thing—birthday cards concert passes, movie tickets, speech and debate certificates, even certain clothing tags and gift cards if I think they look nice. My walls are covered, literally from floor to cieling, with stuff that I’ve taped up. My walls are my pride and joy. Having a big empty spot is going to really bother me. I’ve gotta find other stuff to put there.
I’m okay though. Like, actually, I’m okay. I tossed the stuff in a box under my desk, and in a weird way it felt like closure.
And as I’m sitting here writing this, I see books that he gave me on the shelf. Books that he saw and thought of me and just had to bring them home. Some I loved and still reread; others, I enjoyed but forgot and I doubt I’ll read them again. There’s this one that I just remember he was really excited for me to read and then I got halfway through it and I never finished.
My faux-leather-bound notebook with the deathly hallows symbol on it, one of my truly prized possessions, was a gift from him. Actually, now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure we went halfsies on it. It was twenty dollars. That’s where I kept all of my “best” poetry from when I was twelve (a.k.a. the stuff which was teh most emo) and I still love it a lot. I still write in it sometimes, but I write so much now that I feel like there’s nothing really worth putting into it.
There’s this chip clip sitting on my bedside table that he used to pin a good luck note to my dry cleaning just before I left for speech and debate nationals. It’s blue. It’s got a dog on it. He bought a whole set of them over half a decade ago because he wanted to make his apartment feel like home. Because he wanted me to feel like I was home.
I can’t erase him from my life and I’m never going to. Even if I somehow managed to, it’s his eyes I see when I look at myself in the mirror. He’s a part of me and that’s just the end of it.
Sorry for all this bullshit, and thanks for listening, I guess. I tried to keep this post short. Don’t worry—this week will see a return to our regularly scheduled blogging. Summer is finally and officially over for me. It’s time for me to get back to living the real world.