The eleventh of the twelfth.

I can proudly say that I have never lived in a house for as long as I have now. But now that I live in the south, 11/11 is quite a concept. Not everyone understands what that madness means. Neither do I.

I always try to think of a creative title for my blogs. But anyway, I thought it was pretty strange. I've been without my dad for 11 years and today is December 11. So it's not that creative either. It's more of a reasoned title that contains a mathematical formula than an emotion.

Because, of course, it's very strange to live without a father. As we get older, we know that it's normal for people to die. Although I had never wondered at the age of twenty-four if I would miss my father. Because yes, I miss him. It's not that I think about him every moment of the day. And sometimes I realize that I don't even think about my father every day. They say that time heals everything. That may be true. But I think the pain of loss will never go away.

When I show photos of my father, people often say, "You look just like your father." I would describe it that way too. I look more like my dad than my mom. Although I really have DNA from both of them. But as much as I look like my dad, when I look in the mirror and see my hair (or lack thereof), I don't see my dad's reflection. There are clear differences. But what worries me is that I can't ask him what he was like. It's as if the helpline you can turn to no longer exists. The other end of the line remains silent.

These days are especially difficult. I try to surround myself with friends and family so I don't have to think about this date. This date is so painfully engraved in my soul. It's like a wedding date. (Although I don't understand how men can forget their wedding date, but that's another story). This day brings back so many memories. There is a period before December 11, 2014, and another after December 11, 2014. Everything has changed, but what remains is the love for my parents.