​I miss my dad.

I’m 18 years old. 2 years ago my dad had a stroke and only now am I just beginning to process the form the grief is taking. He’s still alive, and I should be grateful, but I think

I miss the little things. I miss the way he’d end up waking me when he went to work in the morning, even when he tried not to I miss the way I came home from school and asked if he was back yet. I miss his home cooked meals.

But for all the good things I miss, it’s missing the time when I didn’t have to worry about that bad that hits most. That hits hardest.

I miss not having to wonder if he can get out of bed. I miss not worrying if he can feel his face today or when I wouldn’t hear him mention how worthless he feels, how he feels he isn’t providing.

I miss not having to tell my dad he’s needed. I miss the times he didn’t have to ration out how much he speaks and walks and talks and makes us laugh.

He’s still here, and I say I should be fortunate, and I am. But i hate how people forget. People forget that the person from last year, the man they always say makes their day, my dad, he’s not the same anymore. He tries, but I know he isn’t.

They see the best version. They think he’s recovered when they miss all the times he falls over because he can’t balance. Or they miss how he can’t even remember some of our memories. They miss the fact that the version of my dad they see, is the one he wants them to see.

I see the rest of it. And I don’t want to. I want him to be okay, and I want people to understand that he is not.

I just miss my dad.