Grief

I was hopeful that my 39th year would be better. I mean, when we get past this accursed winter.

My father died on Tuesday morning. He was 59.

The grief is far stronger than I expected. See, I have expected this for the last 17 years, from when he had a debilitating stroke that paralyzed him. He lived with extreme pain ever since.

I do not know exactly what happened to him. I don't want to think it is his aneurysms, his original problem, but more than likely, that is the case.

This is a damaging blow to my family. The pain of loss is too intense, probably always will be.

I will shave tomorrow, lessen my resemblance to him as much as I can as not to cause my Aunts any pain because I look like him enough. It hurts me looking in a mirror.

Arthelius the Ghost has no offerings about death. He merely stands in sympathetic repose.

Any love you have would be appreciated in this difficult time.