I don’t know what to write. I don’t know. I just don’t know.
Tonight Mom and I went out to dinner to celebrate the sale of her house in Westbrook. Hallelujah. She and Dad have talked about selling that house for three or four years now. And it’s done. And Dad’s not here to see it. He’s the one who put the whole sale into action when he went into the hospital. So I’m sure he’s up there in heaven, smiling down on Mom.
I’m a little depressed. I cry every day; several times a day. Little short jags. But I’m okay. It’s weird.
I’m cheerfully depressed. I miss Dad so much. Last Friday on my way to the car in the morning I thought, “It’s Friday, I get to see Dad tonight.” And then I realized I wouldn’t. But I can laugh and joke about it. And have fun, even if sometimes I descend into the melancholy.
I suppose I’m doing so well because Dad had no regrets. None. We got a chance to say good-bye. He passed on so gently; his was a good death.
While I am grieving along with my family, I’m trying to honor my father by getting on with it. Life. Living it and such.
It’s effing hard sometimes.