God seemed to have everything I would need to write this book— the people, the stories, the documents, ready to go. I simply had to show up and write. (There were probably enough God-stories to write a book about writing the book!) Much of it was written through blurry, tear-filled eyes. There was much grief that I didn't know still needed to be felt and processed. Fear loomed in the wings and sometimes even pressed right down on my mind like a heavy weight as I relived the symptoms, the suffering and the journey to the end of his time here on earth. I also cried happy tears at the faithfulness of God as I saw so clearly how he had connected so many dots.
But the closer I got to the end, the more it felt like I was digging in my heels— much like a toddler being dragged to a destination they don't want to go to. When I explained this to my counsellor, she said, "That makes sense— you have to say goodbye to your dad all over again. Only this time, you're doing it by yourself." (Insert many more ugly tears.)
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