When my father died at age 42, all of us were in shock. I remember the LONG sleepless nights, the horrible reality of bleak days. Sure, he was an alcoholic, abusive, disturbed (whatever term you want to call it) but I guess I always hoped he'd improve, get better, get over it...whatever.
He was a long-distance truckdriver and for YEARS after he died, I'd see truckers in profile, shadowy in their truck cabs and think it was daddy. He really wasn't dead, it was all a mistake. Once, DH and I went to see a movie (early 70s) with Steve McQueen, and I thought that HE was the spitting image of daddy. YES, they resembled one another...but not THAT much. It was a nightmare, plain and simple.
When we were at my daddy's funeral, I had this awful thought that the only way the situation could be worse was IF it was DH who died. I was young, fragile, and DH was always there for me.
When DH died, I could not look at a patrol car or horse or ANYTHING that he was part of, that he cared about, without crying. I still find that difficult even now.
Isn't it strange how we think that we humans can arrange and plan our lives, when in fact, we have no control. The ONLY true fact is this: "Nothing is certain but death and taxes." Too bad I can't claim that wisdom as my own.
Just having a really sad, bad night.
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