On this day of this month

two years ago.

The last day with him.

One month + one day from now

two years ago.

The first day without him.

My mission within tending my father's rite of passage is to let myself fall even deeper in love with him. Instead of a lifetime ahead, there is a lifetime behind. And yet, this rite of passage stretches time in such a way that moments can carry months. So in each moment I show up with love.

I hear my mind shrieking yes, but

the shrieking is coming from the shield.

I turn to my beautiful shimming gossamer

shield of whiteness and

despite the shrieks, I begin to take it apart.

Slowly, intentionally, carefully, deliberately

I rip it into shreds.

Piece by piece.