Six months. Half a year.
Some days are okay. Most days are okay.
Then, I feel guilty for being okay.
Then, I’m not okay.
Grief is weird. I can be perfectly content, then a thought will pop in my head. A memory. Something about that last day he was alive.
I still have a lot of things I wish I would have said over the years. Funny how the last three months that we had, they didn’t seem like important things to say. Now, I wish I would have said thing. Asked questions that are pulling at my heart.
But, yeah, most days are okay.
Today would have been Dad’s 84th birthday. He’s not here to celebrate with us, so I thought today would be a good time to reflect on the last 3 months.
It’s been 6 weeks since Dad passed away.
We’re cleaning out his house to get it ready to sell. That’s hard. He’s lived there my entire life. It’s his house. The thought of someone else living there, and it not being Dad’s house, it kind of hard to grasp. It’s always been his.