I Don't Want to Be a Part of the Dead Dad Club

Today is usually the day I talk with my father, who, unfortunately passed away almost 8 weeks ago.  I wake up on Sundays, usually, and think about talking to him later in the day, and I try to organize what I'm going to talk about.  What's funny, is that I still do that, I wake up and think, "Oh, I can tell him about the lighting design I'm working on..." or, "Oh, maybe he'll have some suggestions as to how I can be more motivated since his death...", etc.  I think what is extremely hard, is the fact that he was often my inspiration and motivation for the aesthetic I create: a sort of hybrid of classics with a rock 'n' roll edge...and, specifically, a late 70s rock 'n' roll feel...an almost Credence Clearwater Revival meets the British Monarchy...spiced with some Roma idiosyncrasies.  But...there is always a but...those things don't make me happy right now because I know he won't be able to sit next to me watching it, and I won't be able to sneak a peek to see if he's still awake...my testament as to whether or not the show is a success.  I know that a sense of immortality needs to infuse my thinking...the idea that I'm his progeny, and that fact alone can make me understand his sense of enjoyment, but...right now, it doesn't feel possible to be reflective in a way that involves a dual perspective that is his, diced with mine.  So...what does a theater artist do with severe mourning?  Comments are appreciated...because right now I just want to make a shirt to wear everyday that states: "I Don't Want to Be a Part of the Dead Dad Club".