Life without my father doesn’t seem much different from “life with him around” other than the realization that he will no longer be there to ask advice about life. My entire memories of him are condensed into photos. I’ll never see him again in flesh and blood That is the hardest part about my father’s death that I may or may not ever get over.
However surprisingly there has been few tears at his loss. My father wouldn’t have wanted that. He would have wanted me to “remain strong” for my family. Yet tears are an integral part of grieving. So now and then I allow myself some weakness.
They say that there are five stages to grief:
1.Denial
2.Anger
3.Bargaining
4.Depression
5.Acceptance
However it seems I’ve skipped 1-4 and gone directly to 5. I’ve accepted his death. I’ve accepted that he had a full life, well lived and that he had the opportunity to be able to have a relationship with two out of his three grandchildren (the last was born in 2009, the year he passed away). I've even accepted the fact that he was "ready to go" and wanted to go after suffering that heart-attack...
Yet, I miss him…I miss him every day and will for the rest of my life.
Warning: Some viewpoints may not mesh with your sensibilities. Remember before you hit "flame" that if you do so before thinking twice, you will be told to go jump off the nearest high structure available to you. Understand this: This is MY BLOG. Get it? If not: Get lost!
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