It's been 3 months and it seems like it should be plenty time to move on but I am still just as sensitive as when I first found out, if not, more. I try to avoid watching movies with death and drugs because of the places it leads my mind to. And everyone is right, what was ailing you is no longer ailing you. You're resting finally, and it's come to ail me. Well, it will not lead me in the same direction, but instead it is helping me understand you better (I think).

I've started the REAL meds - lorazepam. The wimpy zoloft wasn't doing anything for me, and I needed quick relief before I just shut down. Hopefully this will be the only medicine I need. Still taking the zoloft, and the ambien. But it's the therapy that I find tough...thinking about things that bring back those uncomfortable feelings and having to face them in order to push through them. So that one day I don't need medication

Enough for tonight - ambien is taking over. I'll close with the fact that I have an AWESOME Husband and I love him so much and I am so thankful for him supporting me through my tough times.

I don't know what to write, of if I should write anything. But I'll start somewhere. I often wonder what your "lasts" were. What did you have to drink...a coke? What did you eat last?...and did you ever imagine that it was your last bite of food? What were you really doing? And what really happened? Were you scared? Did it happen quickly, or did you have moments to reflect on your life. If you had moments, did you think about me?

It's really hard to wrap my mind around that you're dead because for several years before your actual death, you were already "dead" to me. I only saw you maybe once a year, never knew where you were or if you were OK. So, you almost didn't exist, and that was painful enough. But now knowing that you really don't exist anymore, that you're not breathing, and that your body is in the cold ground - that hurts A LOT MORE.

It doesn't feel right that you're in the ground. It's weird. You're my dad, and it's not like I'm middle-aged or anything. I've never had a "problem" with burying dead people before, and I'm certainly not a fan of cremation, so I'm not sure why it bothers me so much. Maybe because I watched them lower you. Maybe because it was a chilly, and very rainy day. Thinking about you puts a sad damper on my mood.

I've started to see a therapist and we're trying to figure out what's "wrong" with me. All those things I inherited from you that I always despised...the way sometimes my condescending laugh sounds just like yours, worrying about money, being a perfectionist, having anxiety...I HATED those things because I wanted to be nothing like you. Nothing. You hurt my feelings and I didn't understand why you were the way you were. But now that you're gone, I appreciate those things because they're almost all I have left of you. I have an old ring of yours, and a pair of gym shorts that belonged to you, but those are the only physical items. Talking to the therapist is making me start to realize how hard I am on myself, and making me understand maybe why you made the decisions you did. Would I ever touch drugs now? No. But give me 20 more years of living like I do now, and my answer might be different. What a nasty thing to pass to your children. I really hope that I don't.