Moving on while staying still

I work in a very fluid environment. No, I'm not a diver, or a dolphin trainer, or a sailor. I work in a "policy shop" in the government. Might sound exciting or tremendously boring, depending on who is reading this, but its really an interesting job.

I've not been here long but I'm one of the "long timers" now. Its pretty wild to see the turnover here. Its not because its a bad place to work, I guess, its just the nature of the work, and the people we hire. They're all intelligent, and very employable elsewhere, and there's a shortage of people like us in the government. So they always get opportunities elsewhere, and move on. I've made many friends here, and I miss so many of them. I just get to know them as a good friend and they move on. I miss them. Friends have always been important to me.

I've noticed that even though I'm not in a position in my life where I'm personally looking to move on, that things around me move on, and I find myself in a new position, just by staying still. With all the changes in my life recently I decided the time was not right to look for something new, but to stay put. But even staying put is not staying the "same". I wish it was, but it appears there's no breathers on this marathon of life.

So much change in my life lately has thrown me for a complete loop. I met my husband (re-met, but thats the subject for another post) in 2001, bought a house in April 2004, got married in September 2004, got pregnant right away, had a baby nine months afterwards (June 2005), then my dad died in November 2005. Up until Abby's birth, I still saw myself as a "kid", going home, raiding my parents' fridge, dropping in on them, sleeping in, pillaging their cupboards, getting their help for everything and anything, and suddenly, months later, I'm a mother, and I only have one living parent. Its been an awfully hard transition. I'm still shaking.

I miss my dad like crazy. I'm finding that as time goes on (its been seven months now) that I'm starting to forget just a little bit, what his voice sounded like, its not in my head all the time like it used to be. I'm starting to forget the little things that made him a human - what his hair looked like, his silly old-man-ish mannerisms, his gnarled up funny toenails, the sound of the ice cubes clattering in the glass when he put together a drink of ice tea or lemonade, the sound of him burping or clearing his throat. I never want to forget those noises, and it just devastates me to know that I'll never hear those noises again. I wish I'd audio-taped them, just to remember. Or maybe I dont want to remember, the pain of this loss is so debilitating still that maybe that would just be too much.

Daddy, I miss you. I wish you could come and see me and tell me everything was going to be okay. Will everything be okay? Tell me, and tell me again.