Day 2

Just to inform those of you that swing by to read what I have to share; my father passed away on Sunday, January 12, 2014, just after 10 a.m. It was a beautiful, sunny, but cool morning here. I was with him along with our long-time family friend, Clara. He was alright. He wasn't in any pain and he wasn't scared. He was finally pain-free and at peace. He had a look of relief and the barest hint of a smile on his face.

♥ My father with my son ♥

Today is a gloomy, rainy, and somewhat chilly Tuesday.

Today is Day 2.

Dear GOD, it hurts...

Just to breathe hurts. The only thought playing over and over in my head on a loop is "Just keep moving. If I keep moving, it won't hurt so badly." I know that this is a lie that I tell myself so that I don't fall apart. Truthfully, it helps. Very little, but it dulls the pain ever so much.

I just want to find a place with no people, no noise, just space. I just want to run until my legs or my lungs give out on me... And then I want to sleep. For as long as possible.

I won't ever be the same. None of us will. I know that eventually- at some point- I will be ok. We all will. But for now...

When we explained to my 10 year old daughter that he was gone, her most heart-wrenching cry was that she would never be able to hear Papa's voice calling her "Sissy" (as in Little Sister) and that we'd never hear Papa's laugh again. I feel like my 10 year old daughter today.

The hardest part of all of this, for me, and apparently for her, is that I just want to talk to my dad. I want to hear him tell me another story of the jackassery that has gone on at his work, or something ridiculous that he and his brother and their friends did together in high school so that I can laugh with him. Just one more time. I want to laugh and feel whole again.

It's only day 2.

God, I miss him.