I believed visiting Dad’s grave would help me make peace with the past, but finding a photo of myself on a nearby tombstone sent chills down my spine.

Little did I know that this unsettling discovery would lead me to a life-altering truth about my mother.

It’s been two years since

I lost my father to cancer—two years, four days, and what feels like a lifetime of sorrow.

I vividly recall the day we learned about his stage IV lung cancer.

It was as if the world came to a halt, trapping us in a nightmare from which there was no escape.

Although the doctors immediately started treatment, deep down, we all sensed the battle was lost.

. Dad fought valiantly, but in the end, cancer prevailed.

The news of his passing reached me through a phone call from Mom while I was at home in the city.

Her voice, usually so strong, cracked as she broke the news.

“Penny… he’s gone.”

The memory of that moment is a blur of tears and frantic packing.