My father died 8 years ago today, a little after 10am. I knew then that life will never be the same, and I have been right.
But that’s not a bad thing. And it’s not an entirely good thing either.
Life goes on. The pain of his death, for me, is gone. I have accepted it. Nevertheless, there is a feeling of missing that is neither painful nor comfortable, but something in between… a resolution that this is just the way life goes… chipping away at us day by day. Giving and taking.
I like the mountain tops much more than the valleys. But I have to admit I learn so much more in the valleys.