One Year Later. [Only in dreams.]

Strange. Today everyone's been asking me if I'm okay. You'd think they knew too. Yep, it was a exactly a year ago today my father passed away. I had full intentions to begin the day just as I had intended to remember what would've been his 60th birthday on December 8, 2009; as a celebration of his life, instead of simply dwelling over the fact that he died. It makes me feel better about things, I suppose, to choose this route when remembering my father. But, somehow, my efforts were thwarted once again.

Here it is, one year later, and I'm still alone in the confusion, and efforts to completely accept that my father chose self destruction over all. I still remember the BIA police showing up to my mother's house that day. I knew what they were coming to tell us. Before the officer even made it to the door to deliver the message to my mother, I began pacing up and down the hallway of her house. I was chewing off my nails, looking down at the royal blue carpet. My mom grabbed me by the shoulders to make me stop. The rest of it is kind of hazy. But I remember her starting to tear up;

It says URGENT: Call your Aunt Wilma...

You better call [insert then boyfriend's name here], and tell him to come home.

NO. NO. NO! NO!

THIS ISN'T HAPPENING. THIS ISN'T HAPPENING!

 
I don't know why I dreamed it would feel any different a year later. Wishful thinking perhaps? 
Maybe I just need to go to bed.