My dad is on my dresser

August 21st of this year was the 5 year anniversary of my father's death. They always tell you that it will 'get easier' but what they never tell you is that it will get better. I had an extremely hard time adjusting to my father's absence in my life. Not only was he only 52 when he passed but he also died at the point in my life when I needed him the most. This is something I wrote to my dad 6 months after he died, right after I watched The Oscars:

February 24, 2008
"I actually went into the Oscars this year with complete ignorance, having no idea who was hosting. Those of you who know me well know that I am a huge television whore and am usually painfully up to date on everything Hollywood and celebrity related. What a pleasant surprise it was when Jon Stewart walked onto the stage. Stewart is a brilliantly hilarious comedian with political views and a comedic style that very closely mirror my own. It's not exactly a coincidence that I am a fan as I tend to grow fond of people who are most like myself, famous and ordinary alike.

Stewart's opening monologue spewed out witty one-liners, refreshingly new political satire mocking the atrocity that is and will always be the American Republican Party and its supporters and typical yet priceless celebrity roasts.

I found myself laughing out loud hysterically to the point of tears. As tears streamed down my face and being completely caught up in the moment I reached for my phone, as I do every time I find something to be extraordinarily funny and clever. An instinctive reaction that I have yet to conquer. I can't share these moments with him anymore. I can't call him up and ask him if he's watching the Oscars. Ask him if he's impressed that Stewart is hosting again. Ask him if he just heard that last comment comparing Obama with Hitler and how f***ing facetious it was.

I owe every ounce of my comedic nature to him. I owe him my wit, my sarcasm, my tendency to make light of very serious situations. I owe him my quick sharp-tongued responses, my lack of normal human reactions, my reluctance to trust camouflaged with inappropriate humor. Not all of the aforementioned may seem at first glance to be things for which to be indebted. But trust me, they are.
F*** I miss you."

I did that for months, years even. Every time I thought something was really funny or I got a flat tire or I felt like I needed to be told what to do I reached for my phone to call him. Sometimes I would realize what I was doing mid-reach and I would stop but sometimes I even dialed the number. Regardless, it always ended the same. With me in tears, realizing I was on my own now.

This doesn't happen anymore. There isn't even one teeny tiny ounce of my being that forgets he isn't here and for even a split second thinks about calling him. You might be thinking it's because so much time has passed that I'm forgetting him but if you thought that you would be terribly wrong. The reason I no longer reach for my phone to call him is because my dad is no longer a phone call away. He's right here, with me. I am not a religious person by any means but I know he is here. I feel closer to him now than I ever did when he was alive in the flesh. We've bonded now and we understand each other now. He is with me every time I make a tough decision and every time I cry and feel defeated and want to give up. He gives me the courage to be myself and follow my dreams and believe you me, those were not things he did when he was alive.

I hate that wording. He IS alive. He's more alive now than he ever was in his miserable and trauma filled material life. He's at peace now and I am too because for the first time in my life I am no longer fighting him, I'm working with him...he probably really hates that.

On August 21, 2012 I unpacked my dad's ashes. He had been sitting in a Rubbermaid container in my closet the past 5 years and he is now sitting on my dresser.