Mac Cheesie

Every year, for seven years, I've made my dad's mac and cheese for thanksgiving. Pretty sure I haven't skipped a year. Maybe the last year I was home, actually. He had already been diagnosed I think, and we were cleaning up his diet, and ours, hardcore.

He started the email that he sent the recipe to me with that ^
Been calling me tigerlily since I can remember.

This has turned into a "remember my dad" blog, but it feels like the only place to let these things out. When you talk to people they make sympathy face at you. I don't know if there's a reaction I could even deem ideal. I don't think I want to really talk about it. I just want to put this feeling, this memory somewhere for someone to see it. Probably no one. But I can come back here and see it myself, no matter where I am. "Okay tigerlily let's fly."  Okay dad.

I had to go through all of emails to me to find the recipe. Gmail never wants to bring it up when I search for it, even though I know- it's mac cheesie, not mac cheesy. I had to go through all of his emails to me - SEVEN YEARS of emails- and, no, I didn't have to click on them all, but some I couldn't help. God, I should have talked to him more. I should have! I knew he was dying, even if they insisted he wasn't, I knew he was. The tension in my neck and shoulders is back. I can feel it rise when I think about him. These memories are hurting me.