2 months.

This afternoon, I was checking a voicemail from an unknown number when for just a split second, I thought the voicemail was from my father. In literally less than one second, I thought I heard his voice cutting through the phone as he addressed me the way he always did in voicemails; by simply saying my name, "Jhani...," before getting right to the point. 

It was a fraction of a second that made my heart pulse, but I quickly recovered.

I've had a lot of moments like these in the last two months. There was a moment where I picked up the phone because I hadn't talked to him in awhile and felt like I should give him a call. There was a moment where we were bracing for Hurricane Sandy and I knew he would want to hear about it. There was a moment where I was writing down names for people I needed to buy Christmas gifts for and I started to write "D..." then stared at the paper for a minute before erasing it. There was a moment where the Michigan State Spartans basketball team was on TV and I wanted to text him to see if he was watching too. There was a moment where I was worried about our cat's eating habits and wanted to call the only veterinarian I had ever used in my life. 

All these moments were so natural...until the realization that I couldn't call him, couldn't text him, couldn't ask him these things weighed heavy on me all over again, even if only for a few seconds. 

Exactly two months. When you lose a person you love, the date becomes such a solid point of reference. Who can say they knew what they were doing exactly two months ago, today? I can. I remember all too well. 

In so many ways, I feel like I lost my father ages ago. Life has resumed to normal. I am busy at work. Nick and I cook dinner at home during the week. I am getting ready to be a bridesmaid and a maid of honor next year. My father is not always the first thing I think about when I wake up anymore. I didn't even realize that today was the two-month anniversary until I was at dinner with Nick. I was remembering the voicemail moment when it suddenly dawned on me what today was. It was all I could do not to break down in the restaurant. And then I started wondering to myself, why does realizing that today is a death anniversary make me sadder than I was just a few moments before? No single day should be any sadder than the next but somehow, being able to put an exact measurement on the amount of time I've been father-less tears at my heart a little bit. 

In other ways, two months doesn't feel like ages ago but rather, only yesterday. I still have good, hearty cries. I have no idea when they will come and sometimes they are sparked by the smallest thing - seeing a picture, remember the first time we skyped, remembering an article that he sent me about Cheryl Strayed's "Wild," which I am now that much more anxious to read - anything that makes me feel still connected somehow, still hanging onto the relationship that we shared. 

Death is so clichéd. We've all read and heard about it but the fact is, it's clichéd because it really does encompass so much; it makes you feel regret, compassion, inspiration, reflection, empathy. It can cause tension with people and it can also shed light on how many wonderful people you are truly surrounded by. Every emotion that exists, I think I have experienced in the last two months. 

Anyway. 

When Dad passed, Nick's extended family sent me a star registry kit - a way to legitimately register a star in my dad's name. I filled out the registry form over Thanksgiving and just today, I went to the post office, knowing I had a package there but not knowing what, for I had forgotten about the form. How fitting that it was the official certificate for the Donald Gustav Griffin Jr. star. 

Also, over Thanksgiving, my mom planted a tree in the backyard in my Dad's honor. It is small and scrawny but I take comfort in knowing that there is something of permanence on this earth that will forever represent my father. He loved the outdoors and this tree is the perfect way to remember him.

And remember him, we will. Although life is resuming, although I don't feel as vulnerable as I did that week of October 13th, although we are oddly and uncomfortably making plans without him, I know that he will always be with me in so many ways. We shared a love of many things and it is these things now that pop up in my daily life and allow me to never go too long without thinking about him.