I always thought I would remember my father during birthdays and graduations. Grief, however always catches me by surprise.

I remember touching his cold, hard face. I remember kissing his dead cheeks. I remember the smell of the chemicals used to preserve my father— that’s what death smells like in my head now.

The thing about losing someone is you’re torn between wanting to forget your pain and wanting to hold on to all the memories you have left, however bitter it is.

There is no one switch that allows you to forget. Despite everything, death comes with numerous variations of “life goes on” — for comfort. I personally do not understand how to seek solace in that.

Isn’t that the saddest part? The fact that life goes on?