Every day since Monday seems unreal. Truly unreal. Today would have been a week ago I learned that my father had cancer. The doctors were optimistic about it over the weekend. Monday, I learned the cancer was terminal for him. They gave him six months. On Tuesday, he made sure I was protected in record time and we planned the funeral that afternoon. That evening, his condition declined so badly, that he was put on hospice. He passed in early morning hours Wednesday.
In less than a week, I learned my father had cancer, was terminal, and he died before I had a chance to grasp everything. And it still hasn’t hit me full force. While the house is mine, I can’t begin to move forward because of drama I have with someone else. It kills me. I am off for an entire week from work to sort through affairs and the idea of taking over the household is overwhelming. But he made sure I was taken care of, even in death.
I have been astounded by how many lives my father touched, how much his friends are going the extra mile to ensure I am taken care of, how my friends are just being there for me.
It still has not hit me full force, but when it does, it won’t be pretty. I want to make him proud still, and continue to be strong, but I have always been a daddy’s girl, and his death will not leave me easily.