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kribbanA year ago, I could finally relax in my first class cabin on the night train to Luleå. Up until that point I'd been terrified that I would cough at the wrong moment and be refused entry.
I had anxiety over the booking for a week, when to leave (because we had the most important work project ever going on at the same time,) if I would be denied entry, if I would give my mom Covid, and what it would be like to see dad dying and unresponsive.
Tomorrow, he has been dead for one year, though it feels like he's been dead much longer.
But honestly, it was the time before that was painful. The most sad I ever felt was when he was still alive, but hallucinating, and I realized I'd never have a lucid phone call with him again. It was the death before death.
Post-death, my dad being still and washed and arranged in a dignified pose was easy.
I had anxiety over the booking for a week, when to leave (because we had the most important work project ever going on at the same time,) if I would be denied entry, if I would give my mom Covid, and what it would be like to see dad dying and unresponsive.
Tomorrow, he has been dead for one year, though it feels like he's been dead much longer.
But honestly, it was the time before that was painful. The most sad I ever felt was when he was still alive, but hallucinating, and I realized I'd never have a lucid phone call with him again. It was the death before death.
Post-death, my dad being still and washed and arranged in a dignified pose was easy.
