It’s been twelve years since my father died, an anniversary that I had (embarrassingly) forgotten until a conversation with my grandma brought it to mind.

Full disclosure: i grew to dislike my father. It’s fair to say that for a number of years i genuinely despised him, although that did mellow somewhat towards the end of his life. That comes as no surprise to anyone who knows me well, and even my family (some of whom try to pretend I’m exaggerating) know it’s the truth.

It’s the first time the date has crept up on me and caught me off guard, and i wonder if that is a sign that I’ve emotionally dealt with it, and all the subsequent fallout. I don’t know. I don’t know if you ever do, really.

So why am i posting this unfinished thought? I don’t know that either, but sometimes the world only makes sense when it’s raw and transient. Give yourself too much time to edit, and you sanitise the message… whatever that may be.

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