My father died on January 5. It’s a horrible thing to contemplate. It’s a macabre thing to discuss with the doctors. And it is without a doubt, the worst feeling I’ve ever had, when it finally happened.
And yet I’ve had very little obvious reaction. I cried the morning it happened, and came close a couple times in the following days. The funeral and calling hours were difficult, but more for dealing with all the people and their reactions. I miss him, and can’t really grasp the idea that I will never see him again. We never talked frequently to begin with, since neither of us handled phone calls well. Maybe it just seems like another lull between calls.
It really seems like it should have affected me in some obvious, drastic way. The only thing I might even mildly associate with it was shutting down a bit. Reverting slightly to the closed off nature I’d been trying to shed. I’m hoping it’s temporary.
I said to his wife: In his last 10 or 15 years, he travelled, he had a woman who would put up with him, he had new toys, he got back together with his family and his roots. He had friends and indulged in vices and hobbies. He had pets and grandchildren. I can’t think of anything else in life that could have made those years better for him. He did what made him happy, and that’s all I find important.
Please don’t offer me advice or reassurance in the comments to this. This isn’t reaching out for help. This is just talking.