Oh, Timehop, never letting a past moment slip by us in this digital age. I checked it when I woke up this morning to find a video from my last birthday of my family singing to me– my Dad’s voice overpowering everybody’s. I cried and all I could think was, he should be here right now.Read more
I guess there are seven stages of grief. It appears as though I’m lurking around stage one– disbelief, shock, denial.
I’m slowly trickling through disbelief– I can feel it. I can feel my body resisting it. I can feel my body shuddering through fear– my abdomen is stiff, my hands are shaky, my eyes are swelling. I am physically aching for some balance between this hollowness and heaviness.Read more
Dad, it’s been eight days since you’ve spread your wings and flown above the earth. These eight days have felt like a blur— I feel like I’m waiting for you to come home, for you to walk through the door any minute now from a long vacation… It feels like I’m just waiting. Except one day I’m going to realize you won’t be coming home soon, and it’s going to be a very devastating moment.Read more
“Remember that hearing continues.”
I read it in the book. We were given a “hospice book,” as I’ve been calling it, that I’ve read repetitively. So when the nurse came over last Friday and sat me down to tell me they’re increasing my Dad’s medication, so he’ll become less responsive, I said, “okay, thank you.” When she asked if I had any questions, I said, “no, I don't think so. I’ve read the book.”Read more