In many ways it feels like Dad has been gone much longer. Somehow, at the same time, I still have to stop myself from calling him 100 times a day.
I miss Dad terribly. Not surprising. What is surprising (to me) is that I don't spend all day every day crying. Seriously.
Before Dad died I really couldn't imagine life without him. Obviously, I knew Dad would not live forever. I did, however, think Dad would live much longer than he did.
I always pictured Dad as an old man. You know, wearing a cardigan, walking with a cane, and still charming everyone in a 5 mile radius. Now, I know there are some people who would say 77 is an old man. They're wrong. Dad was a very young 77 with a lot of living left to do.
When I reflect back on the end of Dad's life I am incredibly grateful for the time we had together not only on the day Dad died, but also in the weeks leading up to his death.
The 6 weeks between Dad's mesothelioma diagnosis and the heart attack that took his life were a gift. Each of us...and most importantly Dad...had time to digest what was happening and in the end Dad...and all of us...were spared the terrible death that mesothelioma most certainly would have brought.
I believe it is that knowledge that continues to bring me comfort and helps to assuage my grief.
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