Bound by love

Writing about my dad's death is helping.  It's a place to release some of the confusion and  turmoil in my head.  I'm glad Blogger didn't delete my account.  :)

Last night I had a lovely conversation with the woman who sat by my dad's bedside while he was hospitalized.  We spoken over the phone before but finally met at his funeral.  This loss has bound us together.  Together we can share the grief and comfort one another.  It's an interesting place to find myself in.  My father had thrust us upon each other when I was asking about his meeting with the doctor.  He couldn't remember what the doctor had called his condition and needed her to repeat it to me.   I found her easy to talk to and very concerned and involved in my dad's care.  She was a lifeline to him when he was too sick to talk or when he was having surgery.  She kept me in the loop when he was sick, and I kept her in the loop when he died.  I find that I have shared more with her in the short time we've known each other than I would have ever imagined.

Last night she lifted my spirits by telling me he had spoken of me often and that he was indeed proud of the woman I had become.  I needed to hear that.