I haven't been sleeping well for the past couple of weeks. I have had a pit in my stomach. I cry when I do yoga. I have been secretly eating chocolate icing out of the container in the fridge. I don't want to, but I now hate the month of May with all of it's bright, shiny, cheerfulness. This week marks two years since my dad's death. I am not nearly as angry as I was last year, but sometimes it still catches me by surprise. And I am still very sad. And I miss his voice, his letters, his hands, and seeing him with my children in his lap. May is hard for me because it isn't just the anniversary of his death, it is all of the pain and gut wrenching pleading/praying/hoping that happened in those weeks leading up to his death. I still feel it down in the pit of my stomach. In some ways I want that to end. I don't want to feel this way every May. But a part of me is also scared that if it that clenching in my stomach disappears that means I somehow don't miss him anymore. And I never want that to happen.