Tomorrow will mark the first-year anniversary of my father's death. St. Patrick's Day will never be the same for me as long as I live. I started crying this afternoon, and I've been on an emotional bender ever since. The video clips of devastated Japan on TV doesn't help.
St. Patrick's Day also reminds me of my crazy ex-boyfriend who happens to be a blue-blood Irish man as well. He told me that my father pulled him aside once and made him promise that he would encourage me to write once he was gone. Joe texted me a couple hours ago and said: "Tomorrow, write, in honor of your dad. I promised him I would push you to do that." Of course, that just threw me into a new round of tears.
Tonight, I miss my dad, I miss my old boyfriend, who drove me nuts, but wish we could have spent one day, tomorrow, celebrating his Irish heritage. I dread tomorrow. Maybe I should just go to some Irish Pub, eat some corned beef and cabbage, and make a toast to my dear, departed dad.
I still can't believe he's gone. Somehow, some way, (as Joe used to say) I will get through tomorrow. For the rest of you, Happy St. Patrick's Day.
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