My father passed away early Friday morning. I haven't posted about it yet because writing the words makes it real.
I wasn't with him when he died. My sister was there, and she said he went very peacefully, in his sleep. I am grateful for that. When he was in the hospital, having such trouble breathing, I hated the thought that he would die gasping.
There is much to be grateful for. That his illness was relatively brief. That he didn't have much pain. That he wasn't afraid to die. I'm grateful for the hospice and the people who worked there, who treated him with such dignity and respect. For the outpouring of support from every quarter. For the 83 years he had, and the 47 I got to share.
And, I'm grateful that life goes on. Those of us left behind go on. I still have to get up, get dressed, clean the house, throw away the leftovers in the fridge, put gas in my car. I still get to hug my children, laugh with friends, share stories with my family, kiss my husband. Life goes on, and it is good.