four months ago, i was holding my father's hand, sitting at his bedside in the intensive care unit of St. Paul's hospital. my heart beat faster and faster. his beat slower and slower until it finally stopped.

today i've been thinking about my dad's nickname for me. a name only he would call me. a name only used around immediate family. a name that only he had the right to actually say out loud. a name i'll never hear again in that loud, carrying voice of his.

it's been four months. you grow up a lot with a loss of a parent. everyone is doing better, but we're all still very much wounded. and the only thing that really makes it heal is time. it just sucks that time is such a slow motherfucker.