One year ago tomorrow my Father underwent neurosurgery at Georgetown University to reduce the size of a tumor nestled in the frontal lobe of his brain. I will never forget the feeling of sitting in the surgical waiting room dumping coffee into an already roiling stomach as we waited for the surgeon to tell us how the surgery went. And I will never forget the words that the man in the black scrubs said that morning. "Glioblastoma Multiforme". Ugly words with even uglier implications. But that morning we were ready to do battle with the monster, and my Dad put up one hell of a fight.
Grief is supposed to lighten with the passage of time. But I have found it has just morphed and matured into various and different moments of sorrow; profound moments of absence, dull aching memories and sudden spontaneous tears of sadness.
We miss you, Dad.
