Do I sulk, cry, or scream?

The last 24 or so have been very difficult. Last night I had the strongest urge to cry since the funeral. I'm not really sure why I held off. Right now I'm going through the motions at work, fighting the urge to scream or cry as everyone else goes on with there work, oblivous to the pain inside me.
After dad died, I wondered if things would get easier for a while. No panic everytime my phone rang. No more emails saying "call me on my cell as soon as you get this."  Being able to plan events without worrying about scrambling up to Mass at the last minute. Even though I feel awful saying it, maybe it was easier for a while. It's certainly not easier now. It's only now starting to feel real. I would deal with all of those difficulties again just for the ability to call him after the Patriots pull out a tough victory. I know I paused for a second last night after the James Sanders interception. I bet I reached for my phone before realizing the truth. I also know that not being able to make that call made that win a lot less enjoyable. For better or worse, sports (especially Boston sports) will be linked to him forever in my mind.
I think it also became real last night when I talked to mom. I could hear the pain and lonliness in her voice. I worry about her and wish I could be there for her more. I don't know how I'd help, but being so far away is hard. Although even we lived closer, I'm not sure that I could help ease her pain, and I'm not sure that she could help ease mine. The hole left in our lives is too big to ever fill. I guess we just try to continue our lives, changed forever.

First Entry

I've started this blog as a way to hopefully cope and properly grieve the loss of my father in July.  I've been keeping a journal from time to time and thought that it might be a good idea to post some entries, although some I'll still keep private. I'm not sure how often I'll post, if at all, but I hope to come here to relay memories and thoughts that I have. Some posts might be stories, some might be feelings, some might be dreams (I've had a lot of those), and some might just be random streams of thought.
The title of the blog is taken from a Mighty Mighty Bosstones song that really describes my dad and that I've listened to a lot in the last few months.  Here are the lyrics:

How could I forget, the day that he didn't die
That day he knew what he was up to
He had this look in his eye
How could I
Forget
There's no way
I could forget him, or ever forget the day

And then the day after that, just after the afternoon
It was the day after Christmas in his living room and he died
On that day
In his house
With his wife
Still I won't forget the day before the last day of his life

Oh, I really miss him, he would have loved this, I hope he can hear me
I really miss him, he would have loved this, I hope he can hear me

And how I loved how he lived, how he was loved and admired
A knack, a certain flare for life, and how he had it wired
He'd never give up, he'd never give in, he had a wonderful way of living

There's not been a day, one hasn't gone by
When I don't think about the day he didn't die

Oh, I really miss him, he would have loved this, I hope he can hear me
I really miss him, he would have loved this, I hope he can hear me