I promised a tribute to my dad, and I still have every intent of writing that. Between my two jobs and trying to work with my brother to deal with Mom and Dad’s estate, it’s been grueling trying to find time to write. Being honest, though, that’s not the only thing slowing me down.

Mom died in early June. It was after a protracted fight against Alzheimer’s. While there was an element of relief, for her and us, there is still a grim finality to the loss. No, she hadn’t been the Mom we grew up with for a long time, but she was still there, at least in body. A placeholder where our real Mom had once been, enough of a facsimile that it still felt like she was with us. But then even that was gone. The upside, however, was how Dad was finally, after six years, going to be able to have a life beyond that of a caretaker.

Except he never got that life. Pains in his back became so unbearable he was nearly immobilized, and then, over a period of a couple of days, he became so disoriented that he ended up in the hospital, where they found his calcium levels were shockingly high. They could treat for that, but there had to be a reason for the condition. It turned out the reason was multiple myeloma, a form of cancer. After initial optimism about treatment, his condition spiraled downward so quickly that we, his children, came to the heartbreaking conclusion that the kindest thing we could do for him was nothing.

So he went home to a hospital bed in the same room where Mom’s had been just a few months earlier. Dave was on duty nearly non-stop, with relief from the three of us, along with spouses and grandkids. We kept him comfortable and waited for the cancer that was eating his blood to take him. A process we expected to take weeks took but a few days. He became weaker and more disoriented, until, on a gray Sunday morning, his heart rate increased and his respiration slowed until, surrounded by his boys, he took his last breath and quietly left us. Sadly, it happened so quickly, our sister didn’t make it there on time. But, as with Mom, we’d said our goodbyes and told him we love him earlier, before his mind became too fogged to know who we were.

And suddenly, with no fanfare or ceremony, we four were parentless. It was with no small amount of trepidation that we realized we are now the senior generation of our immediate family. Dave became the patriarch. It never even occured to me this would ever happen, let alone so suddenly. I mean, I knew my parents would die someday, but not really. I felt certain, against all logic, they’d live forever. I imagine that’s probably relatively common. If it’s unthinkable, we just don’t think it. But because it’s unthinkable doesn’t mean it’s not real. And this is real. I feel real sadness for me and real happiness for Mom and Dad. The idea of not having living parents becomes more real every day as Dave and I wade through finalizing their estate. When I agreed to be their executor, that wasn’t real. But it’s real now.

Another thing that’s real is missing them, more real on some occasions than others. Looking through Dad’s Facebook photos to pick out one for his obituary was even more jarring than I was expecting. Moving down through his timeline and seeing him age backwards made it feel like someone had reached into my chest and grabbed hold of my heart and lungs. Seeing Mom become more and more like the Mom we knew just added to the effect. The images blurred to the point I had to stop for a bit to get composed.

So this short period has been heavy. And the heaviness will continue. But I am buoyed by God’s love manifested in my family in friends. And I’m also heartened by how this event has brought my brothers and sister and me closer together. And I can’t even begin to explain the love and comfort I’ve received from Sarah and Lauren through this time. Too easy to forget, this heartbreaking loss has reminded me just how much I love and treasure my family, biological and spiritual. It’s beautiful how during hard times–maybe even because of them–we can both find and give love and comfort.