One Week.

I've managed one week on this planet without my daddy.

This week has been a very strange one.

I don't really know what I expected. Because he was so sick for so long with that cruel disease, I thought I'd come to terms with his passing. But really, nothing can prepare you for the flood of feelings that losing a parent brings. Mostly, I just feel OLD.

I cried when I received the phone call. I cried because I was happy for him to be free, and I cried because it was sad that he was gone.

I had the thought that the past 5 years of my life, I worried about him every day. Advocated for him. Fought the VA for him. Paid his bills for him. Took him to neurology appointments, and eye doctor appointments, and the emergency room, and ten different stores looking for just the right kind of socks and underwear (which of course didn't exist, according to my dad). And now... there's a few more phone calls, a final goodbye at the Coast when his ashes are scattered to the sea, and then... that's it.

That's all.

And it's so weird to think about.

I still am thinking about him constantly. I have to force myself NOT to think about him constantly, because after about 4 minutes of that the tears come. Hummingbirds keep showing up. 15 minutes after he passed the first one showed up. One came up to the window when we were eating at a restaurant on Monday. We always birdwatched together. He bought me a bird guide. We took photos of bald eagles on the Mississippi river. And I really feel in my heart that my dad is still giving me birds to watch.

I took three days off work after he passed. Friday I allowed myself to really wallow, didn't get up and out of bed until Dave came home for lunch. Showered at 4pm. I allowed myself to stew, and worry, and feel sad, and stare at the ceiling, and sleep occasionally (sleep is still a problem).

Saturday I forced myself to get through the day. I got up by 9. I didn't cry until 11:57pm that night (I looked at the clock, disappointed I didn't quite make it a whole day without crying).

It comes in waves now. I'm exhausted - not quite as exhausted as I was during the "vigil", but close. My appetite is back (darnit! lol). Concentration is a problem. Not just with work, with simple things like following conversations, trying to read a book. I'm in a fog.

I am holding it together on the outside but inside I'm still screaming about my daddy.

I guess that's why they call it grieving.