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.
‘This path leads to somewhere I think I can finally say, I’m home’
Economic Man needs no heart, because love and God are dead
End of life brought cancer patient to baptism six days before death
In a relationship, some words more important than ‘I love you’
Despite death, finally finding love made life worth it for new widow
‘Hey, do you already have a wife? My mom doesn’t have a husband’
Midlife becomes big crisis when our self-deception stops working