I dunno if that's an avoidance mechanism, but it was sure effective to me.
And that whole "sleep as an avoidance mechanism" is something I'll spend a tad bit more time thinking about later. Right now I'm just going to bask in the utter relief of ... not being so bone crushingly sad and all-over achey.
So... let's talk of other things because avoidance mechanisms don't at present interest me.
My artistic endeavors, however, do.
Been laying down base colors on a few pieces, and taking some very good advice from Mommy LuanaRayART, I'm only selecting a few pieces to focus on at a time. The wisdom in this? I'll actually stand a better chance of finishing one or two projects rather than a bundle of them. If I succeed at that, chances aren't so likely I'll wind up like I did today, as an emotional, broken mess.
Okay, well, my earlier emotional state has more to do with Dad and that he passed thirteen years ago this Thursday, September 12th.
I did have a talk with my mom about this... I don't want to mark the date anymore. I've decided it's not entirely healthy that I halt my life every September 12th and mourn, albeit briefly. I am taking it a little harder this year than usual... and yes, I'm going to probably notice Thursday when it comes around, but I'm refusing to feel particularly sad, but more grateful for the fact I had a dad, and I had him for seventeen years I wasn't guaranteed in the first place, and that our time together, pardon my Anglo-Saxon here, kick all sorts of fucking ass. Sorry, that's how my dad would have said it, I'm paying homage.
Joking aside... no, screw that, joking NOT aside. That's now how my dad rolled. Life was funny to him. It is to me. Everything is funny, from the fact I was born colorblind and became an artist to that other fact that I am a solid 5'3 and fell in love with a man who stands thirteen inches taller than me.
Ha. Joking aside, again, sorry for the Anglo-Saxon, my ass.
THIS is how I remember James. I remember him with a grin on my face, a hearty laugh and a warmth in my heart at the knowledge that he didn't go anywhere. He's still here. Yes, a part of me, I am his legacy, I'm his last. But the fact that I survived and went on to, instead of mourn, laugh. THIS is how he wanted to be remembered; through laughter.
God's honest truth is I never feel closer to my dad than when I laugh.
And maybe that's exactly how it was supposed to be.
I'm going to cry on Thursday. And I'm going to cry from laughing so (forgive Anglo-Saxon) fucking hard over the memories of our antics, his jokes, his own laughter, the pranks he pulled and the uncanny ability he and I had to tag team and scare my mother.
I guess I want to ask you to do me a favor and remember my dad on Thursday. Just laugh. Even if you have to fake it and don't mean it, just laugh. For him. For me. For yourself. Laugh because my dad was funny. Laugh because life is funny. Laugh because an artist who can't see color worth hell fell in love with a man she can't reach on the tips of her toes. (Thank goodness he'll bend down, eh?)
Just laugh. That's all I ask.
God love you, my babies. I do. James would have.
Mandi L. Pope
