A week ago today I buried my father. The last few days have been – weird. As much as I was overwhelmed by the stacks of boxes strewn across the house and the half acre of grass yellowing in the intense heat and the lack of food in the fridge, it all did me good. Wrestling the concrete unpleasantries of a disheveled household gave me a break from crying and worrying about my mom and looking into all those earnest faces telling me how sorry they are.
By today most of the boxes are put away, the sprinkler and the rain have watered the lawn, and the fridge is well-stocked with farmers’ market booty. We had banana pancakes for breakfast and slowed down. I walked around the house that my father will never see. I wondered what my mom would be doing on her first Saturday night alone. And even at a big party at a big house on the water this evening, I felt pretty darn lonely. I miss my dad. I miss my far-flung friends. I’m sad, and I guess I will be for a while.
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