When my father died he was 74 and quite ill but nothing fazed his spirit, he knew he was going and felt relief that my mother and the rest of us would no longer have to tend to him. Dealing with his passing was a little strange in that he was the simplest man I knew, and had left us a legacy of family orientation that was indelibly imprinted on our minds. I had two sisters who were very supportive and their husbands all chipped in to help, we spent most of the time just basking in the many jovial and warm memories that he had left behind, and on how much we were gonna miss his witty sense of humor. My dad had a way of making the mundane appear funny; somehow he had this knack of finding the lighter side with consummate ease, and often would have us in stitches over the way he enacted. I still reflect on those fond memories from time to time and although four years has gone, it still sometimes seems like yesterday, laughing at these memories eases the fact that he is just gone, but we are also happy because he is in a better place for sure. Love you dad; always.
It’s weird isn’t it, how death affects us.
We all deal with it in different ways, crying ourselves to sleep, or laughing at fond memories.
But what about when you didn’t even know the person who has now passed on?
Recently, my Facebook became filled with posts about a lad from my area, a friend of many of my old friends, saying that he had unfortunately took his own life.
I never knew him (other than him coming into the sandwich shop I work in the other day late at night). But yet this news saddened me, and really got me down, and I’ve been trying to work out why.
View original post 346 more words