The anniversary of the day everything changed.  The anniversary of the reason I’m still in Missouri.  The anniversary of the day Iris lost her dad.  Yep, that anniversary.

Mike and I used to joke that since he was more than fifteen years older than me, chances were I’d probably be wiping his butt someday.  We had that scenario half right.   Wiping butt is what I do, but it’s not his.  And if someone had told me two years ago when Mike died that I’d be back in Missouri wiping my dad’s ass, I’d have said, GET BACK, DEVIL!  Yet, here we are.

As with everything else these days, I feel like I’m in a bit of a time warp.  In some ways two years seems like a lifetime ago.  Certainly a lot has changed since then.  But mostly it feels like the gaping wound left in his absence hasn’t even scabbed over.   I’m painfully aware that his death is the only reason I stayed on to take care of dad.  I suppose a more positive way to look at the situation is to say that because he died, I had the opportunity and the honor to take care of first, mom in her final weeks and now dad in his final [what’s turning out to be] years   (He just won’t give up.)

I can joke all day long about dad dying.  I still haven’t found any humor in losing Mike.  Except from the initial reactions of the older kids.  Upon finding out that he had a heart attack,  one said, It must’ve been all that cheese.  The other said, It must’ve been all that bacon.  The man did like his meat and cheese.

There’s quite a bit more to say on the topic but I’m going to leave it for now.  It’s good therapy for me to put to words some of the things I’m thinking and feeling but sometimes it can be a painful therapy.  It’s been two years and I am no where near “over it.”  He’s all I ever wanted and now that he’s gone I don’t want anything else.