My friends, since the death of my father my heart is both full to capacity from all the love I am receiving and broken beyond repair from the loss of my dad. I haven’t had a good cry since the day he died and the further time moves from that moment, the further his memory seems to me.

So I wait for it, this good cry. I know that I will cry when the emotion hits me.

I figure . . .

I’ll cry when I walk into the church for his funeral mass and I see all those that have gathered who love him.

I’ll cry when the priest shares about how my dad is now enjoying everlasting life without pain and suffering.

I’ll cry when I read the words I wrote about his life and how he touched us.

I’ll cry when I return to my pew and my children are in tears.

I’ll cry when those who knew him tell me how sorry they are and how much he was loved.

I’ll cry when the Air Force cadets play “Taps” in his memory and they hand our family the folded American flag.

I’ll cry when food and flowers arrive at my doorstep from my dear friends.

Except I don’t cry at any of those times. In fact, I feel like I am partially holding my breath through the whole entire day.

And as I wash my face at the end of the night and see my tired reflection staring back at me, I start to let go. I let go of my breath and my posture. I curl up into bed against my husband, a place that is safe and warm and where my deepest pain can run out of me. I begin to cry. My cry is deep and needed. My breath is quick and there are so many tears I stop wiping them away. He holds me as he did the day my father died. No words or reassurances because what can be said? I cry so much I think I’ll never stop, but eventually I do and I fall asleep.

I woke up today with eyes that were still feel wet from crying. I’m not sure why I didn’t cry at the funeral, maybe its because I knew once I started I wouldn’t stop. Maybe it’s because the longest relationship in my life is gone and in some small way I feel more alone and loved than I ever.

What I have come to understand is that I am safe with that man I call my husband.

I am safer there than anywhere else in this world.

Safe to unhinge, emote, lay in silence, compose again, and keep moving. Even if moving forward means I am moving away from the life and death of my father.

God. I miss him.