My father died when I was 21. I am almost 30 now. Next year will mark 10 years without him. I don't think I ever truly let myself grieve. None of us (my sister, my brother, and I) truly did. We swallowed the tears, the pain, the sadness, the longing, and the dreams. We make jokes. We change topics. But by being born, we "came for the long haul," and we are now "empty fucking hole(s)."
I remember my father's coworker meeting us outside of his hospital bedroom. He did not say hi or nice to meet you.
The first time his coworker saw us, through tears, he said,
"He was so proud of you."
oh do you believe in heaven
like you believed in me?
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