Today is 7 months.

I still reach for my phone before I remember. I still feel like I've been hit by a truck when I do. I still think I can go visit him, and he'll be in the garage, smiling at me as I pull up. I still can't wait to tell him so many things, stupid little things that mean nothing... except now, they mean everything, simply because I can no longer say them.

I have to look at pictures to see his face now, a man of such life and expression, reduced to poses in front of water falls, family photos, birthdays, with none of the in between. It's the in between that I miss the most. The everyday.

No day would have been the right day. No amount of time would have been enough. But I wasn't ready for this. I watch old videos or see old pictures, and I'm jealous of the girl in those photos... the girl who still has her Dad. I want my life back. I want his life back.

I want to keep going and I want to stop feeling like all that means is waiting for it to be over, so I can see him again.