I have a coworker who recently lost her father.
Brought me back.
When you're ten you think your parents will live forever. How could they not? They are-even if we don't know it at the time-our heroes.
I have a pile of emotions that I yet to deal with after my dad passed. When the funeral came, I packed all that shit up in an emotional closet, put a lock on it, back a dresser up again the door, and I never even touched the dresser.
I felt obligated to be strong for my immediate family even thought I know they would have understood a breakdown if I had one.
Shit is hard when your father is your guiding light. My dad never gave up on me and always found a way to make feel it's doable. It can be done. Never discourage me from doing the right thing.
I'm not my roots, I'm a dickhead and my parents both are not like me in any way shape form or fashion. I'm off a bit. They loved me regardless and still dealt with my hardheaded ways. My Leo-ness is not a direct reflection of them. Middle school kinda did me in and I never turned back around.
The word fuck became a permanent part of my life around that time.
Fuck...this, that, you, her, him, them, y'all, it, its
But back to my dad-he was a gem. Just an all around good person with his arrow always pointing in the right direction. Later on in his life he formed a strong relationship with God and he became in my opinion a super hero. More right, more focused, more giving, more of a man.
So losing that is something that you wonder if you can ever get over. Never, but you're grateful for having had a super hero in your life.