July 3rd

I hate crying.

But I cry every July 3rd.

July 3, 2018 was the beginning of saying goodbye to one of the greatest men I had ever known.

Towards the end of June every year, I feel it coming. The anger, bitterness, resentment, utter sadness. The Grief.

The more I try to push it away, the stronger it gets.

I spent all day distracting myself so that I wouldn’t cry.

But tonight while reading to Kaaria, the lump in my throat almost choked me.

The memories were back and they were undeniable.

I wish he could have met her.

I see him in her smile. I hear him in the way she says certain words.

I just want to see him. Smell him. Hug him.

I’m scared that I’ll forget the sound of his voice when he greeted me with a “Heyyy Baabyy” as I walked through the door.

I hate July.

I fucking hate July 3rd.

It sits on the calendar as a reminder of watching him fade away.

I hate August too.

It took you away too soon.