The Un-hugged Hug

I am sad. Sometimes I can't even believe it; the emotions don't seem real, because I've never felt such an all-emcompassing, lingering, pervasive sense of sadness. It feels as though even on a good day, there is a layer of deep, overwhelming sadness just below my "surface" emotions: laughter at a joke, frustration with a stupid customer, stress over applications. No matter what I do or where I am, it's there.

I am broken. It's harder for me to hope for the future than it ever was before. It's hard for me to continue to trust that things will eventually work out for the best. It's harder for me not to feel lonely, to be fine with being single. It's harder for me to be happy for my friends who are getting married, who are in love, for whom good things are happening. It's harder for me to get up in the mornings. All I can see are empty years stretching out into the future.

I am overcome with worry. I worry for my mom, with everything there is to take care of and remember and organize and deal with. I worry about money. I worry that I have no idea about how to be an adult, or taking care of car troubles, or paying taxes. I worry about having to face the holidays ever year. I worry about being alone. I worry for my grandparents. I worry that soon we'll lose them too.

I am resentful. I resent that this situation is happening. I resent people who take for granted their parents, their good fortune, their health. I even resent people who don't take it for granted, who are rightfully joyous and grateful when miracles occur in their lives. I'm jealous of the miracle. I resent people who try to comfort me with platitudes or heaven or Bible verses. It's just not enough to break through this pain, not yet. Not yet. I resent that I have no choice but to be messed up and sad and broken, for the foreseeable future. I think about how I feel now, then I think about how every person I've talked to says, "It's never going to be okay." It's not that I want to be "okay" with my dad dying, but I miss feeling like my life was whole. Not shattered, not missing a very huge and important piece. I miss feeling like there was a shape and a purpose to my life, a direction and a past. A life in which every moment unfolded brand new and bursting with possibilities.

I am bereft.

All I want to do right now is give my dad the biggest bear hug, to squeeze tight and hold on. I dream about it; I think about the exact details: how high I would lift my arms, how I'd stand on tiptoes, where my hands would meet, his arms around me. How I'd feel him telling me he loved me, the vibrations of his voice reverberating through us both. My arms ache with that un-hugged hug.

I just realized I don't remember our last hug. I don't remember the last time he told me he loved me. I do remember the last time I told him, just before he slipped away from me forever.