I found out today that one of my dad’s best friends is struggling with an illness.
Mr. Johnny has the best stories of my dad, him and another friend of theirs, John, growing up and spending time at “the old home place.”
It sounds selfish, but it makes me so sad thinking all of these stories eventually being gone forever along with the people who were in them.
I know it’s crazy, but, I get so sad knowing that eventually I’ll never have a reason to go back to where I grew up. Eventually everyone will be gone. I know it’s not healthy to think about such things. I know these events happen to everyone.
I have such a small family and it has taken me a long time to learn not to take them for granted. The cheese is definitely coming on with this post. My family has this understood kind of love. We don’t have to say it or be near one another to know that we care about one another.
My dad and I were especially close. Even though I know he loved me, there are times when I wish we were the kind of family who said, “i love you” at the end of our phone conversations or who always lived within a few miles of each other.
I don’t really know why I’m saying all of this stuff. I’m pretty down and out about the possibility of losing someone who was always around during my childhood.
I’ll be in Georgia this weekend, and it’s going to be different from the time I was there last year. I don’t mind change, it’s the emptiness I worry about taking over me from losing familiar things.
