My Least Favorite Holiday

I hate Halloween. The two weeks that revolve around it make me feel like a crazy person. The last memories I have with my dad are around this time. 

I remember the day of Halloween, racing home from Wesleyan, hoping that my dress would arrive in time for my costume. 

I remember saying goodbye to my dad and heading out. 

I remember going to the doctor the next day because I sprained my ankle by falling on stairs (very embarrassing). My dad chuckled at my stupid mistake. 

I remember going to school, lugging my big boot around thinking that everything was okay. 

I remember going out on a Friday night with my friends. Waiting for Mama to pick me up to go home where I would receive the first of many heartbreaking updates. 

You were in the hospital. 

So now it seems to be that when this time of the year sneaks up on me again, I lose my footing. I begin to feel that any progress I made, and the closure I had, is all messed up. 

It is almost two years without you: two Halloweens, two birthdays, two Christmases, a boyfriend then an ex-boyfriend, a driver's license, a car, a crashed car, and applying to college. 

And you are not here for any of it.