I Miss My Buddy

I'm truly having a hard time dealing with my dad's inability to speak.



He's my buddy. My dad and I spoke on the phone at least daily before all of this . . . sometimes two or three times a day. Just 'hellos' or 'did you hear about . . .?' conversations. Nothing life changing, usually. We just kept up with what was going on with each other. He called to talk to Meg . . . to try and get her to sing him a song. I called to see if he'd heard the latest news or to tell him about something I thought he'd like on TV.



I'm an only child. Maybe it is because of that that my dad and I have always had a ridiculously close relationship. Maybe it's in lieu of a sibling . . . who knows. I talk to him as much as I imagine that I'd probably talk to a really close sister or brother (but obviously not always about the things you might talk to a sibling about).



And I MISS him. I can't call him . . . well, I can, but the 'beeps' conversations are a bit exhausting and very unfulfilling. I can't tell what's going on with him. I can't tell if he has something to add to our conversation . . . or if he even cares about what I'm talking about. All I know is one beep is 'yes' and two beeps is 'no'. Three beeps is 'I don't know'.

This whole situation is way harder than I thought it would be. I'm pretty much hating it all.

Lately, my dad and I had not really been getting along too well . . . December through the end of February were pretty tough times for our relationship. Big change (like the birth of Kate) usually do that to us, but we always rebound. And now that he's not able to talk to me -- even to yell at me, as it were back a few months ago -- I really, really miss him. I had no idea it would be like this.


I want my buddy back.