The Grief That Lingers: A Son's Lament for His Lost Father.
To Everything a Season, and Not All Things Must Fit to Belong
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As my father aged, I told myself that one day he would not be here. I would have to be ready. I had lost my mother when I was twenty, but it was a slow death; from 10th grade on, she, despite her fighting spirit in the face of cancer, was dying.1
With cancer, does grief bleed off with time? By the time they pass, has most of the grief drained off? Perhaps my memory of the grief for my mother is fractured by the prism of time, or the distortions of aspiratio…
