Take it to the grave (or from)
This weekend I got the police called on me over a rainbow sun catcher garden stake I placed at my father’s grave. How you ask? Well it had been there for less than 24 hours, my sister, husband, myself, and brother in law showed up to the grave the next day on our way out of town to place flowers there, and the stake was missing. Now who would take something from a grave you ask? There was only one answer. My aunt.
Untethering from my father
Depression knew him better than most people. It lived with him for years of his life. It convinced him that their history meant more than all the glimmers of goodness other people brought into his world. It promised a future free of pain if he would lay down his trust. In a life filled with so much pain, how can anyone blame him for falling for it. Those who knew my father, and I mean really knew him, can rest a little easier knowing he is no longer in pain. In exchange for his pain, depression didn’t tell him it’s trade off.