In the five months since my dad’s death, there are many things I’ve left unsaid. Many blog posts I’ve drafted, many journal entries I’ve crafted, many people I’ve shafted.

There have been countless tears without nearly as much closure as I expected.

And isn’t that so stupid? How can I expect anything?

Sure, I’ve been to more than 20 funerals for various friends & family — but nothing prepares you for the loss of an immediate family member.

I’ve gone through many stages, sometimes simultaneously. My laughter over a fond memory bubbles up anger and resentment for not flying home more often in the three months between his diagnosis and death.

The anger continued last night, when an NBC reporter questioned Olympic skier Bode Miller about his brother’s death. Overcome with emotion, Miller was unable to finish the interview.

I was reeling over the reporter’s inability to recognize she should stop asking questions and just shut the hell up. But Miller is more gracious than I, and he understood she had no idea he would break down at that moment.

Everyone deals with grief differently … that’s no surprise. What is surprising, though, is how often people make these situations about themselves.

They don’t know how to deal with the loss. They can’t handle seeing you cry. They can’t imagine what you’re going through.

What they don’t realize is that sometimes, they don’t need to do anything — just be there for you.

I’ve held my tongue and left many things unsaid in the months since my dad died.

Part of me wants to let go of my guilt that I didn’t say enough when he was alive.

Part of me wants to lash out every time someone tries to change the subject, when I really just want to cry it out for a few minutes.

Part of me wants the words to come out, free of judgment, instead of bottling them up for fear of burdening someone else.

And all of me wants him back here just for one day, just so I can say everything I didn’t.