It’s been 22 days since my dad died. I miss him more than ever. We moved today. We went from a five bedroom house to a two bedroom apartment. I don’t mean to sound like a brat but it’s a bit of a culture shock. actually a lot of a culture shock. Combining four peoples stuff into an extremely tiny space with no storage? Hard. To say the least. My mom and I are sharing a room. Which I don’t mind, but we have very different habits. And we both have a lot of stuff.
Everyone’s been saying that “this is what Alan would have wanted.” Gotta call bullshit on that one. My dad would have NEVER wanted us to A) be financially unstable B) for me to drop out of school and get a second job C) have to downsize our beautiful home and sell all of our brand new furniture. I just don’t see how he would have wanted any of that. I just feel sick. I really hate it here. I’d like to go back 3 years ago. We had our house, and I had my daddy. I wish I could bring him back. More than anything in the world. Day 22 and it’s not getting any easier.