My dad passed away on September 2, 2014. We were close and very much alike— I love and admire him deeply and miss him terribly. He had Parkinson's Disease for almost twenty years, heart disease for a long time, too. He is the sweetest man you could imagine— a helper, a listener, an understander, a silly jokester. We took care of him at home in the final days, my mom and siblings and I. It was the most intense and awful experience, one I feel honored to have had. And after that...grief. An ocean of grief that feels it will never end. Just as I feel I might be coming to a shore, another wave crashes overhead. We hear the words "uncharted territory," and that is exactly what grief is like for most of us-- something whose depth we never reckoned, whose facets never crossed our minds before, something that we expected to be a smack in the face, but turned out to be an anvil from the sky. An obliteration. Something that affects everything afterward, even parts of life that seem unrelated.
So it goes. We have to continue, we have to let the grief move through us, though it seems it will never stop. Probably it never will. I am still trying to understand how this can be, and how it is that the world can continue to exist without my dad in it.
I love you, dad.