What I found hardest when my father passed away was that life still went on. My mother’s house was full of loss and grief on the morning of the funeral yet outside the trash was still being collected.
Each day since his passing the sun still rises and sets; the moon ever ready to take its place.
Today my father should be celebrating his birthday. He should be feasting on a pile of fresh prawns. He should be alive and well.
Sadly, cancer had other plans for him. For me however the pain of his loss is still as fresh, if not fresher, as the evening of his passing.
I still shed tears for those moments neither my children nor I will never share with him. As to when or if that pain will ever lessen… “mum, how much longer?”