I Loathe Death

I loathe death in all its merciless manifestations, even little deaths, like the last sip of an exquisite cup of coffee or the end of a perfect vacation; I know these are technically endings and not deaths, but they deposit a twinge of sadness in my heart nevertheless.

I hate to witness even the tiniest of deaths.  
The death of a beloved pet is unspeakably tragic.  

The death of a parent is hardcore pain etched into every cell of your body accompanied by life-altering reality, at least that is how my dad's death felt to me. It's a gaping hole in my heart. 

I will describe it for you through pictures:

I will now describe it for you through interpretive dance:

Nothing felt good and everything hurt.
One of the worst aspects of my dad’s death was not being able to share my achievements with him. He was such a tough critic, that if I won his approval then everything would be right with the world.

Not having him around sucks for incalculable reasons. How do you come to terms with not seeing someone you love so deeply—EVER again? Right after he died, I sometimes actually would forget that he was dead!

Then I'd arrive back on planet earth and be jolted into reality, “oh, that’s right, you’re not here because...you're DEAD!

When I was around ogres and dimwits who were busy making everyone within earshot miserable—I’d plead with the universe,"WHY in blue blazes didn't you take this guy, instead of my lovely dad?!"
I had dad envy (still do)—I envied anyone with a dad.
My grief was so ever-present and nonstop that I longed for relief, but it was nearly impossible; everywhere I turned I was reminded of my heart-wrenching loss—"DAD" permeated everything!
My dad has been gone for a long time, but it still feels like a gaping hole in my heart. The good news is, like an old battle wound, the hole is now a little bit smaller.

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