A Passing Reference
My Dad passed on at 4:40 Saturday morning. The sudden silence that suffused the space which had been assaulted for three days with the rasp of his labored breath, the gasps and groans and the choking coughs was both relief and grief. Relief inasmuch as the silence means the cessation of his suffering. And yet, this morning, now twenty-four hours later, that silence oppresses me. My heart wants nothing more than to fill it with the wails of a child no more than three, calling for her Daddy in the dark wee hours of the morning.
Forgive me if I sound maudlin. I’ve had less than twenty hours sleep in the last six days. And I miss my Daddy.
3 tell me a story:
I'm sorry for your loss. I lost my Mother and my Aunt this past March and I know how difficult it is. Take care.
I am so sorry for your loss. Since my grandmother died on the 15th, I've grappled with trying to emulate some of the best things I enjoyed about her. It's the way I've chosen to honor her.
1. Only when my grandparents died I understood how cold and ugly I was with them. This understanding is the first thing to greet me every morning. I hope you were not that late.
2. Jews, for instance, don't pay too much attention to birthdays, carefully checking every deathday instead. As if by dying a person passes a crucial exam and moves on.
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