My Morphine Drip ...

I had all these thoughts going through my head tonight, I guess I needed somewhere to put them; so here I am on a Sunday night about to publish them. Some of you may wonder at this, like" hello Ashley its called a diary". I get it. 

But I am still hoping at least one of you reading will be a licensed therapist and will take pity on me and shrink me. 

Its Sunday

This day is still one of the hardest days for me. 

Jose and I started watching a tv show on Netflix..good ole Netflix. Its called Longmire..its about a sheriff in a small town in Wyoming near Cheyenne, the main character is not only an uncanny doppelganger to my Dad but the very character is a freaky resemblance of my Dad in almost every way, the mannerisms, the cop in Wyoming part, all of it. 

At first it was like a quick punch in the gut, and now its like a slow drip of morphine..something I feel like I need. Its been weeks since I have called to talk to my Dad...truth is, feels like ripping open a freshly sewn stitch every time I did call. The silence is nearly unbearable, and its so hard to sit there and tell him all about my life, everything he's missed, everything he's missing. Every weekend I try and muster up the courage and then Sunday comes... and I just fall apart. I know it sounds crazy but watching this silly show makes me feel connected to him somehow, because I know its something he'd like, and as I mentioned the guy is basically my Dad's twin. 

I hate that football season started and that the Broncos are undefeated...if nothing else SURELY that would wake him up...or my little brothers birthdays, or my little sisters wedding, or his long lost son that he hasn't seen in 17 years who found him and went to see him. One of those things I was sure would wake him by now, I mean he's "awake" I suppose, his eyes are open but no response, no recognition, nothing. I hate the nothing. I hate the distance, I hate how much I don't talk to him and I hate how much I want to. I hate that I can actually talk about it now with out falling apart, I hate that its becoming a normal thing, like; this is who my Dad is now....I just feel like everyone in my world has been robbed of the chance to truly understand how amazing my Dad is, he is not just some guy, he's the strongest man I have ever known and to whom everyone else is held standard to. 

Of course I am still full of faith and hope that God can do anything but that doesn't mean there wont be moments of real talk with Jesus and a thing I like to call "Honesty Hour" where I get real honest with the Lord about everything I am feeling..It looks very much like a toddler screaming for ice cream in the middle of the frozen food section at a grocery store. 

I don't really want to wait anymore...I don't want to have any more moments pass us by that he has to miss .. I just don't. I don't want to dream that he's awake and has been awake anymore, I don't want to hear the sad solemn sound in my grandparents voice when I talk to them anymore, I just want everything to go back to normal, I want to call my Dad on Sunday afternoon and talk to him even if its about the weather because my father is the most private man ive ever known. I don't care, I just want to hear his voice.  

Those are my thoughts, I feel better getting them out. 

I know its a mess, but I thought id post a picture of my Dad and that Longmire fellow so you can see what I am talking about.