It’s been a while since I’ve written here.

My last post was near the end of June. My Dad passed away the afternoon of August 11th.

Dad’s heart, that’d given so much to so many in his lifetime, stopped.

Thankfully, his love didn’t.

I’ve had so many things I wanted to say, but the words would fade into nothing every time I sat down to share them here. I’d sit, fingertips poised over keys, tears streaming down my face.

I wasn’t ready. I needed to hold the words closer for a while longer. I needed space to engage a new world that no longer includes my Dad’s physical presence.

I thought some of this grief would feel familiar to what I experienced when mom died.

It doesn’t.

The largest difference is now we have two sons who are old enough to understand the depth of our loss.

Right after Dad passed, Bruce immediately explained to both boys that crying was totally okay and tears were nothing to be ashamed of. I think it was pretty profound for our boys, in that moment, to hear that reminder.

In the weeks since, they’ve had trouble sleeping. I have, too.

We continue to reminisce about Poppi, as they called him. We laugh over remembered hilarity…and cry when the reality that there will be no more to share with him sinks in. Our youngest son has asked me about depression and grief. I, and Bruce, continue to answer his questions with open honesty and offer the understanding that it’s different for everyone. He’s had some extremely restless nights so lately our home school days have started a bit later than usual.

This is okay.

We adjust and make room for a life which is profoundly different and, yet, somehow the same.

WE.

Together.

I’m so damned grateful I’m not alone.