My dad suffered from seasickness. Which for most people, is a completely avoidable affliction. Yet he sailed, alone, across the Atlantic in a small yacht. Twice. The concept that he could potentially overcome anything was not totally unjustified.

The overwhelming feeling that I am not ready to say goodbye keeps flooding in. Keeping afloat with family, friends, memories and love is the only thing swatting away a drowning urge and holds all the ugly truths at bay.
We will never hear his voice again and I quake inside knowing how much he taught me and how much more I wanted to learn.

When are we ever ready for sadness and loss? He fought like a champion until he couldn’t fight anymore and this would all be so immeasurably easier if he were an unpleasant human and a bad parent. But the slicing truth is that he is an amazing husband, friend, brother, uncle and father. None of us could have asked for more.

He felt trapped in his crushed body and fought to stay, mostly for us, as long as he did. His vitals started to drop again in the afternoon and he once again lost consciousness. This time his blood pressure and heart rate steadily plummeted. My sweet, brave sister put on some headphones with nature sounds for him to drown out all of the medical beeping and gadgetry. He slipped away peacefully within an hour. A valiant, strong, amiable warrior of a soul.

Tears continue to prove their pointlessness by leaking down my cheeks and into my ears when I lie down. I feel like I am swimming in the ocean. Dad loves the ocean.