This time last week, I was sitting at my Dad’s bedside knowing that he was dying. I promised him that he wouldn’t be alone when he died.
I reminded him of the weekends when I was little. He had gotten me a Barbie bat. It was pink foam with a purple handle embossed with hearts and stars. He would pitch to me, I’d hit and run the bases. Then, I’d have to go get the ball so he could pitch again.
Grief is weird.