Cristina: “There’s a club. The Dead Dads Club. And you can’t be in it until you’re in it. You can try to understand, you can sympathize. But until you feel that loss… My dad died when I was nine. George, I’m really sorry you had to join the club.” George: “I… I don’t know how to exist in a world where my dad doesn’t.” Cristina: “Yeah, that never really changes.” Grey’s Anatomy

I joined The Dead Dads Club exactly three years ago. It was summer, a very hot summer. The telephone woke me up. I was sweaty, hot, and annoyed with all the buzzing. I still had a landline back then, and my mom was the only one who used that number. I thought she was calling to wake me up, as she often did, and I couldn’t understand why she was calling earlier than usual. I was annoyed.

She told me, between tears. She was strong. You could tell she was trying to keep it together, for me, the best she could.

The rest of a day is a blur.

There was a car accident. One of those stupid car accidents that no one can tell exactly why they happened. There was nothing more they could do for him. He was dead on the scene.

Dead. Lifeless. Corpse. Gone. I kept repeating these words to myself during that day. Over and over again. They sounded cold and made-up. Even made me chuckle a couple of times. After all, these kinds of things don’t happen to me, to us. They happen to strangers we read about online. To characters on TV shows. They can’t happen to me. I’m too young not to have a dad. I’m not a grown-up yet. I need my dad.

It took me a long time to process the news. For more than a year, I pretty much functioned on auto-pilot. I cried a lot, I ate a lot. We’ve always been a close family, even after I moved to another city to go to college. And the shock I felt that dreadful day, there’s nothing to compare it to. People died in my life before. But never one who was so close to me. Or whose death was so unexpected.

Three years have passed. And there are still a few things I’d like to say to him. To my dad.

I miss you. Not all the time, like I used to, but every day. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t feel the loss. Sometimes only for a few seconds, sometimes for a few hours. But it’s always there.

I’m not visiting your grave anymore, unless mom wants us to go together. You’re not there. I know you’re not there. Because you’re with me, whenever I need you. I feel you in the wind sometimes, I feel you next to me when I listen to one of your favorite songs, I hear your voice in the back of the head whenever I’m about to do something stupid. You’re here, I know you are.

Our arguments? They used to drive me nuts. Because we were so different, you and I. And stubborn sometimes, both. They seem so silly looking back. But no, you still weren’t right. Well, maybe just half of the time. Maybe.

I’m afraid to drive. I’m making progress, and I panic less now. But I’m not comfortable behind the wheel just yet. And I used to love it. You’ve ruined driving for me. I’m working on it.

I’m angry sometimes. They say those five stages of grief happen successively. They don’t. You can experience a bunch of them at the same time, even after you think you’ve finally reached acceptance. So I’m still angry every once in a while. At you, for dying, at me, for not being a better daughter, at the universe, for taking you away. Life’s unfair, I know. That doesn’t mean I don’t get to be pissed off.

I’m not as irresponsible as I used to be. I pay my bills on time now. The rest of my life is still a mess though. But I’ve learned to embrace it this way. It’s more fun. And I’d like to have fun for a little while longer.

You know how much I used to love Christmas. I don’t anymore.

I’m done shutting people out. I’m now trying to let them in. It’s not easy, as you might have guessed, and I’m not particularly successful. But I’m making an effort here.

Mom’s good. She’s awesome, actually. You would be really proud of her. Of us both, I think. Because you’ve always loved us more than anything. And for that, I’ll always be grateful. Today, however, is hard on us. So cut us some slack, OK?

Time heals all wounds. I used to believe that. It’s not true. Some wounds are too deep and painful to be healed. You just learn how to live with them and do your best to move on.

When’s the last time you called your dad?