It wasn't even an option, back then, that a day would pass by and I wouldn't cry.
When I only cried twice in a day, it was a huge deal. It was a victory.
When I cried only once, I thought, ok, maybe I can do this. Maybe I can continue living.
And then a day came when I didn't cry at all.
And then, even crazier: there came a day when I laughed. I actually laughed. Something funny or stupid happened, I can't remember what... Maybe we were playing Monopoly, or maybe someone said something incredibly silly, and it happened. Out of nowhere, I was laughing, really laughing, that loud, clear laughter that rings around the room, unstoppable, clear.
I remember those first days, whenever any one of us laughed (or even smiled) it used to feel like the most incredible victory ever.
And then it didn't.
I started feeling as if every day that I didn't cry for you, I was betraying you. Not missing you enough. Moving on. Gosh, what a dirty word. We both know, people don't move on from their fathers. At least I don't. I won't. I don't want to, but also, I can't.
The thing is, it took me a few months to figure it out: it's ok to not cry for a few hours, days, even weeks. It's ok to live.
It doesn't mean I'm forgetting you. It means I'm honoring you by living a full life. A real life. And at those times when it feels like it will never stop hurting, at those times when I'm sure I won't be able to stop crying... if right then there's someone to hold me and tell me I'm not alone...
Then that makes you happy too.