Yesterday when I saw my Dad, he had this blank expression on his face. I wasn't sure how he truly felt about the whole ordeal at first, so I kind of kept quiet. But as we took off on the road, he took a deep breath and glanced over to me.
"I feel like a murderer," he sighed, gripping the steering wheel a little bit harder.
I didn't know what to say. There was a part of me that wanted to console him, because he really loved that dog as much as I did. But then the other part of me saw the entire act as murder, too.
He obviously could tell my awkwardness and averted the subject.
"Your sister was brave. You know she went with me? I was surprised how willing she was. Your sister was a brave little girl today. More like a young lady after what she witnessed today."
"Is she okay?" I asked, and then suddenly envisioned my little sister's face soaked with tears. Even worse, my little baby brother's face.
"She cried, if that's what you mean. She was severely upset over it all. And with good reason, obviously."
"Obviously," I mimicked softly, thinking that I wouldn't have been able to be in the same room like she was if I had been there. I don't think I would have even gone so willingly.
This has really got me thinking about fear and death. What exactly is it that I fear the most from death? Is it the concept of complete darkness (which is what I always imagined darkness to be as a little kid. Nothing but endless darkness. Probably why I still sleep with some sort of light on at night.) or is it the loneliness that is caused by it?
Although I feel beget with tremendous sadness right now, I know that nothing is going to be as painful as walking into my parents' house the next time and realizing for nearly the first time that he won't be there. That empty, lonely feeling that is going to settle into the pit of my stomach.
That is what I fear the most. The lonely realization that sets in. Even now I can feel that same emptiness creeping into my stomach.