Climbing back on the saddle

It's been a while since I've posted on this blog. If you read my last post, you know that I lost my beloved father on March 22^nd. It's been a struggle for me to get back to me since that time. Though my father had been sick for quite a while, I really had not prepared myself for living the balance of my life without him. I miss him so much. Because I am still in Pittsburgh in the home where he lived, there are daily reminders of him. It's been kind of surreal for me. Because he was in and out of the hospital so often the last two years, it seems like he's just away at the hospital or the rehab center. When it slams home to me that he's not and that he's not coming back, I get a stabbing pain in my heart and the tears once again flow. Strangely, my mother seems to be coping the best out of all of us. I suppose that older people accept death as inevitable and perhaps are more accepting of it when it occurs. Though I know that my Dad is no longer in pain and being poked and prodded, the selfish, imperfect human side of me still wants him here with me. I want to be able to hear his beautiful voice. I want a few more hugs. I want to just know that he is still here. I know that my Dad would not want any of us to be sad, that he was ready to go, that he only hung on as long as he did for our sakes. Yet, I was not ready for him to go. I want to believe that "he's in a better place." But, how do we really know? Some religions teach that the dead are resurrected to heaven and are wearing wings and golden shoes. Others teach that at death, a person ceases to exist and that hell is the grave. Though I've lost others who were dear to me, my father is the closest person I've lost to death and suddenly, I want to really know what happens at death. A friend told me recently that my father gave me all I needed to build and live my life as a good and successful person so he had done his job. This is true. So much of who I am, the values I hold dear, the traditions I cherish, the importance I feel of family, are all directly attributable to my Dad. Thank you, Dad.

T