It’s hard to explain exactly what 13 years feels like. You know how it is getting older: the days blur into weeks, and then into months, and finally into years. It feels so cliche to say, “time goes by so fast.” And yet it does, and it is. If someone had told me two, five or even 15 years ago that I would be parentless by the age of 43, I probably would have replied with a a certain amount of hubris, “no way!” Even though I’ve always known life to be inherently unpredictable, as I’ve been thrown quite a few curve balls in my day, predicting the unimaginable is never something you can really ever prepare for. So you don’t.
I’ve said to a few friends and family over the course of the last few months, that after my dad passed away, I felt an orphan-ness that I didn’t expect. Even though I have built my own independent life, and my parents were no longer “taking care of me,” the relationship we had, and their presence in my life, was a constant source of comfort and support. I admit, sometimes I took it too much for granted.