In 3 days, Daddy would have been gone for 2 months.  On most days, I still can't wrap my head around it. In my mind, I can still see his face, hear his voice, smell his perfume, which eventually evolved into the sickly scent of the hospital ICU.  After he was put on dialysis in June 2016, I thought we would have at least 2 more Christmases, New Years and birthdays with him. But in just 8 short months, he was gone.

Everyday since he passed, I wake up not knowing if this would be a good day or bad, if I will get through the day without the weight of grief engulfing my heart. Today, in between meetings, as I ate lunch alone at a client's food court, tears started running down my cheek as I ate a Ham and Cheese Bunwich by my lonesome. And as I wiped the tears away I resolved to write a journal, not just to chronicle my grief, but more importantly to let writing be the gate valve of my pain, fervently hoping that through my writing, the day that I am able to remember Dad without my heart hurting so frikkin much will come sooner than later. And I will strive to end each day with a reflection or resolve towards healing.  

Thus ends my first entry in my grief journal which I will call MY JOURNEY BACK TO HAPPY.