We always thought he would live a long life. His father lived to age 98. So, for him to die at age 69 was a shock, and in more ways than one. He had been at a CPR training class in the morning. When he got home, he complained of a little headache, nothing unusual. Everyone gets them. Then a vessel in his brain burst, and he was gone. I sometimes wonder if my mom had been able to get help sooner, maybe they could have saved him. He was brain dead by the time they got to the hospital, and there was nothing they could do.
People might think, "Eleven years? Shouldn't you be over it by now?" But that is not the way grief works. I may never "be over it."
Below are some things I've written about him over the years.
Now and Then (a poem)
My Dad, My Hero (another poem)
Daddy, I Miss You (a list)
Hospital (a story)
Distance (another poem)
Thanks for stopping by today.