It’s been four years today, and it still feels like first. Migrating to a completely new place is not enough to keep me from remembering that on this day, four years ago, at 5 in the morning, my father passed without me by his side.
Four years ago, my brothers experienced the worst kind of sorrow and the highest level of despair, and I was not present to comfort them.
Four years ago, my mother had to witness the love of her life be torn away from her, quite instantaneously, without my arms around her.
Four years ago, I failed my family because I was too self-indulgent to be home for the weekend.
Four years ago. Feels like first.