Today, it's been 3 years since my father passed into the light. I don't talk much about it, but I miss him all the time. My father was very close to me. I was his little girl. Since I also was his only child, I think at one point I became also his son. (Don't misinterpret me, I am a woman, but at the moment where I moved out, 5 years ago, I also was a tomboy, which I still am.)
So anyway, I went to Senegal, which was a country that my father had loved very very much in the 80's, when we lived there as a family. I finally completed my studies and got my attorney license, which was something my father had given hope on. I am now living a reality with which he was very well acquainted, which was to come back home after an assignment overseas and be without a job. Bottom line is, I miss my dad, because there is so much I would have to say to him today, and all I can do is say it here.
I miss those late breakfasts with him, cooking eggs and ham, talking, driving. I miss going out on a limb with him, just for the pleasure to drive and to explore an area unknown to me. I miss explaining Star Trek to him. I miss going out on dates with him and watching movies, eating a smoked meat sandwich on St-Laurent Blvd.
My stay in Africa was a break from mourning. On that sunny continent, the reality of his permanent absence was weaker. Sometimes, I even forgot about it. Makes coming back to Canada all the more difficult.