A week ago, my father died.
Well, not quite a week ago. More like six days and twelve hours. It’s morning as I write this; he died in the evening. I got the call at 9:30 pm, in the car driving home after dropping off The Kid.
Is it weird to focus on precision? Probably. Given that I got my OCD from my dad, though, maybe it’s not inappropriate right now.
The time of death on his death certificate is 10:40, because that’s when the hospice people got there to make it all official. That bothers me, because it’s wrong. He was gone by then. It’s like they pulled a number out of a hat. I know this is how it works. Everyone has been as wonderful as one might hope. Every kindness helps.
There’s so much to say about who he was, all his personality and nuance, everything he did, everything he wanted to do.
I can’t. Not yet.
The whole world looks the same. Acts the same. It’s not. Every normal, mundane, ordinary thing is different. Sometimes I get angry that nobody else seems to notice this.
Time is a bastard, you know?
Lizmonster Writes 
I’m so sorry to hear about your father, Elizabeth. Such a huge thing to lose a parent, even when you more or less know it’s coming. I wish you love and comfort.
I am so sorry about your dad – you have my condolences and prayers. It is difficult to lose a parent and getting through that “year of firsts” without them there can be challenging. One day at a time. Remember the good times. I wish you peace, comfort and love.