As we approach the sixth anniversary of Keith's suicide I cannot help but reflect over the transition of the anniversaries of his death year by year.
It has gone from a raw and bleeding wound that overwhelmingly hurt to where we acknowledge he has passed away and the day he did it is again approaching. It's a sad reflection, but the pain feels so far removed that I find myself searching to see if it is there.
Brooke is aware it is approaching and we are grateful for time that has passed and our new normal that works for all of us.
An unexpected piece I guess you just learn through a parent suicide is the unbelievable hurt of Brooke not being able to say, "Dad."
Her 2nd word as a baby, a title to one of a child's most important people and term of endearment. It has been a struggle for her hearing her peers talk of their dads and she cannot.
I notice Brooke uses the term freely now. She says, "Daddy" all the time in reference to David for Finneaus (our Ragdoll cat). She calls David, "David" but she has a safety net of calling and referring to him as "Daddy" countless comfortable times speaking for Finneaus.
What a perfect safety segue for a child to use an important term without violating their heart. To use it on behalf of a pet.
Brooke was recently asked the question, "Who is your safe and trusted person?" She answered, "My mom and David."
It surprised me when I learned she randomly texts him funny things and if she needs something or a ride I find myself with my eyebrows arching when I hear she contacts him first before me. He stops what he is doing and does all the little things a dad does from shuttling her around town, taking her to lunch, to picking up special treats at the store for her to the un-fun things of beating me to the house if she is acting up.
They have found their groove in their relationship together.
