A couple of years ago I wrote about the picture my family had received of my dad on the last day of his life. Today marks the 11th anniversary of his death. It seems fitting to share this post again. I think about and miss my dad every single day, but my thoughts about him are all happy ones.

Grief is a funny thing, though. Like a quiet cat slinking around the dark corners of a room, grief quietly purrs in the shadows, barely audible, and then will then take you by surprise and pounce on you when you didn’t even know it was nearby. I think you have to let it sit there with you for a while, heavy on your chest. It eventually finds its way out and life resumes. Sort of.

His Last Day

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