Quiet

It's too quiet in my house.  For days I have prayed for some peace and quiet and now that I have it, it's too quiet.  Since last Wednesday I have been inundated with relatives staying at my house, crying babies, screaming kids, complete mayhem - so much that I have not had any time to really process the loss of my dad.  Now that they're all gone it's hitting me like a ton of bricks.  This sucks.

People keep telling me that eventually it will get better - that the painful memories of his illness and the last weeks of his life will gradually fade away and be replaced with all the good, happy memories we have.  It doesn't seem possible.  I'm so angry right now - angry that someone as good and wonderful as my Tato had to suffer through ALS, the disease from hell.  He didn't deserve this.  He should have lived another ten, fifteen, even twenty years based on the longevity in his family.  He should have been able to enjoy his retirement, to watch his grandchildren grow, to spend all that money he saved enjoying the fruits of his labor.  He didn't deserve to lose his ability to speak, eat, swallow, smile, walk, breathe. 

The quiet is killing me.  I tried to make it go away by playing the piano, playing the stereo, anything to fill the silence.  The kids are coming home from school in half an hour and I can't wait.  I will welcome their noise at this point.