29 days later

I keep reading Henry Scott-Collins' famous poem. "Death is nothing at all/it does not count/I have only slipped away into the next room."

But my dad didn't really believe in that. I don't either. He was a stone cold atheist his whole life and believed that when you're gone, you're gone. And he is gone. It's been 29 days.

I keep thinking about how I didn't call him. I saw him for my niece's birthday, then I was busy two weekends in a row and couldn't make another trip out of town to visit him. I bought a little gift for him, and I was going to call him and tell him I was coming into town the following weekend, and I just didn't. He hadn't heard from me in two weeks on the day he died.

We're both autistic and were never very expressive about love. We never really hugged or told each other we loved each other, except when I was a small child. We didn't call each other often. We didn't really need to- it would have felt performative. But now I am haunted by the idea that my dad might not have known how much I loved him. That he took our sporadic contact as a sign that I didn't want to be around him. I'm scared that he thought he was a burden. He had been sick for a long time, but we all thought he had another year or two left in him. I didn't say the things I wanted to say because I thought there would be more time.

I can't stop thinking about how he died. He died alone. He got out of bed and he collapsed on the floor while my mom was at work. She was gone for hours. Was it quick? Did he know what was happening? Did he lay there and wait for death, or did he lose consciousness instantly? Was he in pain? Was he scared? I will never know, and I just keep thinking about it.

I feel like if I could just talk to him one more time, I would be okay. I could ask him the things I wanted to ask and tell him what I wanted to say. But I can't. I can't ever talk to him again, and I'm never going to see him again. I talk out loud to him in the room sometimes, and I know I'm just talking to the air.

I feel jealous of people who feel assured that they'll see their loved ones again in the afterlife. I have tried religion, I have tried various degrees of spirituality, but it just doesn't stick. It just doesn't speak to me. I can't make myself believe. My dad and I had that in common.

So now I'm 30 years old and have to live the rest of my life without my dad. I think about living to his age- another 47 years down the line- and I can't imagine it. I can't imagine those years without him. But I have to do it.