My brothers keep telling me that my father had had the best last seven years of his life living in Vietnam, and for his death, it’s his blessing. With good intentions, they try their best to lessen my grief. I don’t cry as much as I used to whenever I think about my father. I am at the point of acceptance, even though his death was not a surprise or a shock…I knew all along that he had failing heath problems. Nevertheless, as much as I know that it is true, and as much that I know it is a blessing to live the remaining years of his life the ways he wanted…I still feel a deep void lies somewhere within me.
We all grieve differently the way we know how. I grieve in solitude, in my own space, in deep thoughts, with moments that pop up in my mind that gave me sights of my father — a couple lines of lyrics from a song he sang or the melody of his strumming guitar, the color of a green Jeep he used to drive, his favorite beer, the smell of his cigarettes, and so on. I take that into my solitude, and think of what life would have been if it were different from what it had been with him. Unfortunately, we don’t have another parallel universe for comparison, and I would never find the answers for that kind of thoughts.
It’s been three weeks since his soul left his body. I wonder to where has he been wandering in his new life endeavors.
The living still need to keep on living…
One of my friends said this in our chatroom a couple of weeks ago…she said after her father and mother passed away, she felt more obligated to live a fuller life and a more meaningful life.
I am doing just that…living a more meaningful and fuller life.