Three months ago tonight, my dad drew his last breath. I was there. I saw it happen. And yet, three months later, I feel a bit of shock at the reality that my dad is gone.
I felt the same bit of shock about six months after my mom died in 1988. But her death was sudden and unexpected. I had been watching my dad make his way to end of life, inch by inch, for months. But still, I feel the same bit of shock.
I had the privilege of visiting Quantico yesterday, the Marine Corps base in Virginia, where my dad completed his officer’s training and where he and my mom got married in the chapel on base.
I was surprised how quickly the tears filled my eyes as we drove onto base; surprised how much emotion I felt when I walked into the chapel. This pretty chapel still looks just like the pictures from my parents’ wedding in 1958.
The difference, though, is that my parents were not there yesterday, like they are in the picture of their wedding in that chapel; the picture that hangs in my home.
Death is an odd reality. I don’t like it one bit. And yet, those of us left on this earth for however much longer are tasked with continuing to live. And so I will live, even as my eyes fill with tears yet again.
