24 hours. 24 hours ago I crumpled into my husband’s arms outside of my parents’ house. Police cars and an ambulance surrounded the house. I knew before my husband spoke through his own tears. I knew someone was dead.
My dad died yesterday. At 57 he just didn’t wake up. The man that walked me down the aisle at my wedding. The man who was always there to help me when I couldn’t figure something out. The man who bought me a hot pink tool set when I moved out of the house. The man who loved fiercely without so many words. The man who has left a huge hole in my heart.
Life will go on without him. That’s the thing about life. It has a magical way of carrying on even when someone’s world ends. It doesn’t care if your dad just died. It doesn’t care about you, in a beautifully tragic fashion. And you know what? That gives me comfort in some strange way. Life will go on. Day after day will continue to trudge by. I know that in time I won’t want to shrink into a tiny ball until I blink out of existence to go find wherever dad went without me.
My dad would always say, “Welcome to my world.” I’m looking forward to the day when I’ll get to hear him say it to me again. In a world that has no end.