Empty Chairs

My world stopped turning 2 weeks ago, when I got a call saying Dad was rushed to the Emergency Room. He went in fully dressed, he came out in a burial shroud.

We laid him to rest yesterday. Since then, I cannot help my imagination from spinning out of control. The darkness. The silence. All these things will be his companions from now on... 6 feet underground.

I have not addressed his death. I may have been saying out-loud "My daddy's dead" but no matter how many times I say it in my head or to folks around me, it is not sinking in.

This is a conscious effort to let it rip. And I am failing miserably.