These past six weeks have been hard. Almost tragic. A brother missing, then found, safely. Mistaken for lost but to find a walkabout ensued. 

A father slowly dying after 81 years on this planet. That makes it seem like he’s superman. He isn’t. Everyone grows old and dies, unless they are superman. But I wasn’t ready for him to die.

Aging parents hit some harder than others. In a family of four siblings, my role is the caretaker or nurturer. My eldest sister is the one who calls all the relative’s on my father’s side and deals with the church folk. Cousins and such. My eldest brother stays by my father’s side and tells us all of the major end of life or comfort care…step by step…my other brother acts like business as usual. 

But less than two weeks later. Death came an hour after I left his side. 

There is a hole in my heart. A hole.

A memory lingering. His laughter has left my heart. 

It’s never easy.