I lost my mom in August of 2022, a very short time ago. I lost my father much further back, in January of 2005. In my fifties, I still feel like an orphan. Tongue in cheek, I say this, for I'm obviously not a kid anymore. It's still sad to lose a parent, no matter what age you are or how long of a life your parents lived. Even when you know the time is getting close, it hurts no less. Pain is pain.
I was expecting both of my parents to die, preparing myself for it. They both had dementia and were in mental and physical decline. That said, it was still a shock. To see my father with his blue eyes wide open, and my mother laid out on the floor after CPR was done. My mom attempted to get out of her hospital bed in the group home. Not in a million years would anyone expected her to end up on the floor, after not walking for four years.
They are both gone now. They are certainly not forgotten. Memories can fade, and time has done its work on those memories where my father is concerned. Pictures are a great source to look upon to keep things more vivid.
I still want to call my mom to tell her something, for a second or so. Her death is still fresh in my mind, and has yet to fully sink in. I grieve, but I still think I haven't felt the full effects of my mom's death yet.
They didn't hear "I love you", from their parents, so my parents didn't say it to me or my brothers. Their home lives were rough, and they brought some of what was done to them into their new family. I'm glad I was able to initiate it with my mother and keep it going. I wasn't able to keep it going with my dad. It felt awkward, at first, but children need to hear it.
Though there is much more I could relate, I'm sharing just a few words. Writing can be a tool for healing. I am thankful for it.