This is how I will remember this summer: Memorial Day weekend my father started to complain of headaches and pain in his right arm. Within days his fingers were numb, and doctors appointments were being scheduled. By the Fourth of July he had spent nine consecutive days in the hospital. He was responding favorably to his first and recent round of chemo, the tumor in his neck was visibly shrinking. And now it's Labor Day, and I'm grieving his passing. It sinks in more each day, he's no longer able to get on the phone when I call my parents in New Jersey. He's not working on a new watercolor, reading a book from the library or dreaming about moving to a warmer climate. He only lives in the past. The ache is deep and penetrating, and consumes my energy. I'm grateful for a long weekend to chill, to settle in to the stillness. The crisis is over, now life is about being in the aftermath of the drama. Sorting through the many emotions, embracing the inevitable truth.
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