Why

The past three years since losing my father have been eventful to say the least.

I paused at the realization two nights ago that I hadn’t seen my dad in three years. Three whole years on November 19th. That’s 1,095 days. And as I grow older, that number will increase. If I live to 100, that’s more than 75% of my life I'd have spent without him. Percentages are dumb and I doubt I’ll be living to 100, but that percentage looms with a sharp bite. 

I've heard I was an annoying kid. No one has ever said it to me in those words, but I always asked a lot of questions. “What's that?” Promptly followed by, “why?’ And well, that seems pretty annoying. Mostly because I still do it and realize how annoying it is to always be asking why. 

I'm an archeologist for answers. I always feel the need to dig deeper, to know what's below the surface. And even when I try to refrain myself from wondering, I end up blurting out that three letter question anyway. I’m sure this fuels my tendency to over-explain. I'm sure if the number of nights I've kept my boyfriend awake with my rambling had a word count, I'd have enough novels to fill a library (bless that man).

Contrarily I spend as much time listening as I do talking. I am a fond believer in curiosity and the possibility that there are no coincidences, even when the answer is, “I don't know.” I don’t know what my future holds. If I knew then I wouldn’t have much to seek.