Dad’s funeral was the worst day of my life; my heart felt like a pincushion. Before the service, my stepmom demanded that I babysit her son (5), saying, ‘I must greet people.’ I refused. She smiled and walked away. Later, I froze when I saw the small, velvet-covered box she was carrying, tucked carefully under her arm. The church was quickly filling up with mourners. The heavy scent of lilies and old polished wood magnified the raw sense of loss that weighed upon everyone present. My father, a genuinely kind and profoundly private man, had passed away suddenly after a very brief illness, leaving a vast, aching emptiness in my life….CONTINUE READING IN BELOW
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