I still see my dad every day.<\/p>\n
Our parents fill so much space in our hearts and our lives that anything and everything can remind us of them, even when they’re gone. Like my dad.<\/p>\n
I see him every time I drive past a Rita’s Ice, where we used to go on hot summer nights. (They’re pretty much everywhere back home.) I hear him any time someone tells a groan-inducing “dad joke.” (My sense of humor gets more like his with each passing year, my daughters tell me.)<\/p>\n
And still, a full three months after his passing, at least once every day my mind tugs at me: Call Dad. You haven’t spoken to him in a while.\u00a0<\/em>And in those moments, I feel the ground shift beneath me, a daily aftershock of loss.<\/p>\n Those are just moments, though.<\/p>\n Most of the time I’m okay, because I had a lifetime to prepare for this. I remember how terrifying the idea of death felt as a child when I first came to understand it; you probably do, too. But as we grow and age and live, death becomes less frightening. We learn to expect it and plan for it, and we adapt to the idea of it.<\/p>\n Loss and grief still come calling, and they are no less powerful when they knock. But though the ground may shift beneath us, we have built our homes on a solid foundation. We stand.<\/p>\n At least, that’s how it works when people leave us when they’re supposed to: late in life, affairs settled, words spoken.<\/p>\n But what about when people leave us too soon? When parents pass early, their children’s loss must be unimaginable. When we’re that young, our parents are<\/em> our world, and when they die, our world ends with them.<\/p>\n Nothing is stable anymore, nothing reliable. Every step is shaky and unsure, the ground constantly shifting. This is the unsteady foundation of “Silver Palomino.”<\/p>\n