Strange...

I don't actually know why I'm writing... I feel the need to talk to you. I want you to know how hard I'm trying to make it in the world, knowing you've gone on to another place. I feel you around me. It's getting easier to accept that you're gone, now, the days don't feel so raw anymore. I can look at your urn and I just feel familiar, I've developed a familiarity with your 'passed on' self. I guess that's it... when you died you became a stranger, this new form I'd never known you to have. You'd always been a constant in my life, to call on, to talk to, to know I could ask for help if I needed it, and, even run to.
You're still a constant, constant like the stars, constant like the moon. Even in daylight you're there above me, watching over me, and I know if I look up I can see your face. The world still turns beneath you and I am in it. I'm missing your voice right now, Dad. I need to see if I can find that DVD of you. I think I could be ready to hear you and see you again. I'm ready for that layer of pain. I love you my Daddy.