Today is my first Valentine's Day single in nine years. It's been a damn long time coming. I remember the last time Valentine's Day was on a Saturday, I was going to college and Darren came to visit and brought me orange slices and chocolate roses. Sigh. That was back when I liked him.

I no longer cry every day thinking about Dad. Most days, sure, and I think about him constantly, but I guess I must be hitting the acceptance stage. I probably said this in my last blog, but I am terrified of forgetting him. Anything about him. I don't even want to forget how awful I felt the first time I saw him after his surgery, with the bubble wrap around his chest and the tubes everywhere and the "NO CPR. CHEST OPEN." sign behind his bed. I don't want to forget that he was wearing socks and how that comforted me.

The last time I saw or talked to Fahj was the Sunday before he collapsed, when he met us in Duluth to do lunch and some Christmas shopping. Angie and I had babysat Taylor the day before and it was such a fun weekend. We ate with Fahj at Blackwoods in Proctor and he had a salmon sandwich (he'd wished he'd gotten a burger instead), we shopped for eighteen hours at Barnes & Noble for Buddy and Katie's Christmas gift, we went to Home Depot, where Fahj crop-dusted the aisles, trying to cover up his gas with throat-clearing noises. It was snowing hard when Dad dropped us off at Angie's house and he said he wasn't going to come in. I looked back at him, sad I wasn't going to get a hug, as I got out of the truck. I had a bad feeling something might happen, either to him or to me.

I can't help but wonder if people feel differently before they die, like they know it's coming. The day Dad died, Mom asked him how his stomach felt and he said, "Fine, how's yours?" I think he knew something was going on.

It amazes me how frequently I think about the old man. The only time he's not on my mind is when I'm busy at work. I've been working 60-hour weeks consistently and spending the weekends with Angie, which always helps. Speaking of Nij, reading her blog makes me cry more than anything. I'm alone this weekend and that scares me.

In other horseshit news, Nic's grandma died unexpectedly last week. It's been a bad run.

This is disjointed and I don't even care.