My dad comes over just about every day, with the exception of the weekends. I am so grateful for his appearance at my door, and feel so guilty that I cannot present a better me to him. My father, as I have noted elsewhere in this blog has done everything, meant everything to us. He is also a do-er, which is probably where I got it from. Only, I don't want to do anything anymore. So he does it for us. He took care of the truck, because he knew I couldn't bear to look at it. He bore looking at it, and remembering his son-in-law, for me. He hurts. He says so. He dealt with it for me. He has dealt with the COBRA, the stupid calls from where my husband worked. You name it, he is there. And I appreciate it. He doesn't feel like he has done anything...because nothing has given me peace. Nothing has brought back the me he used to love spending time with. But me, as I used to be is gone. It was me, with the light of Leonard's love in my eyes.
I miss my husband and it shows too much, I guess. I used to worry about my dad (I know a lot of us Daddy's girls do) and then when he got kidney cancer the thought of losing him became very real. Only then, I realized that if, God forbid, the worst thing happened, I had my love, my light, my Leonard to lean on. He's not here anymore.
My father told me today that he cannot bear this. That he worries. And all I can say is, I'm so very sorry. I wish I were a different person. I wish this didn't hurt me...affect me...or cause the changes in me that it has. I wish I could be his girl again. But that girl is gone.