family

After three days of rather detached and clinical responses to my father’s death, I’ve finally had a tremendous flood of emotions about him tonight.

I’m angry. I’m hurt. I’m filled with rage. I don’t have adequate words to describe how shaken I am.

I picked up his last worldly possessions late Friday afternoon. He had little enough remaining that it all fit into his car, a white 2001 Toyota Avalon. I drove home with something like a sense of dread. The people with whom he had been living told me they had gone through his things — looking for a will or something that might give instructions about his wishes — and discovered journal entries and letters which I would find interesting. I haven’t looked for those yet.

But when I got home, I started his old MacBook Air. What I’ve found so far makes me sick.

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