My dad died 7.9.19

I think this was taken when he must have been turning around 24 or 25. My parents married very young, my mom was only 21 and my dad was 23. My brother was born a year later.

I think this was taken when he must have been turning around 24 or 25. My parents married very young, my mom was only 21 and my dad was 23. My brother was born a year later.

I’m forcing myself to write here again.

I gave myself 2 weeks off from writing. I told myself that early on - that number popped into my head for some reason.

I needed all this time.

It’s so layered, the grief. I live with him. We have the same genetic condition. We look so alike. See, still talking in present tense about him. Because he’s going to breeze through the door in a second. Tuesdays were our evening where it was just me and him. My mom babysat my sister’s kids on Tuesdays.

He’d go with his running group - though they’ve been walking more the past year or so since one or more people had an injury, or in my dad’s case Stage IV cancer.

That’s right. He walked every single Tuesday until before that awful week where his lungs basically stopped working. I started to give him a hard time about it.

Then I stopped. Those Tuesday evenings were so important to him. If they made it all go faster, and he was ok with that, then who am I to suggest he ease up.

It just all happened so fast.

I’m still having trouble wrapping my head around it.

This is hard. This is really hard to write in here about it, so raw still. But I need to. The house is empty. I have lovely people offering their company. Which I’m so incredibly grateful for. I spent the day with a sweet kid which was good because I’ve been in bed for days. Crying. Staring at the wall.

Getting out of the house and conversing with a teenager was good medicine.

I don’t have a job. Or my own place. Or any vacations scheduled. Nothing.

Just me and my grief this summer!

Thank goodness for the hugs. And the people cooking broth. And the people offering their company.

Solace. While I try to make sense of all of this.

My heart hurts. It physically hurts. I can think I’m doing ok, and then like anyone that’s lost a close loved one, the smallest thing can make me cry. The nicks in my windshield that we discussed getting fixed. His hanky - YES he still used old-school old-man hankies until the end, always thinking about the planet - that I stuffed in my purse the day of the funeral and realized was still in there today, his car still sitting in it’s spot.

Someone is bringing me Pho style beef broth right now. How lovely is that.

I should go. I can’t think. I’m so tired. I’m so tired of being tired. Tired and sad.

Just got phone call from awesome friend. Gotta go thank goodness for my peeps. Thank goodness….xoxo