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Am feeling a bit stunned, partially from the amount of alcohol I've imbibed in the past two weeks, but also by how small over-looked details pop up at such inopportune moments. Reading through my dad's biography (it's not long, only a few paragraphs), with only two nights until the funeral, I suddenly felt bad because it didn't mention his love of soccer. Or his particular enjoyment of blow-em-up action movies. Isn't it strange what you remember about someone once they've passed away?

Talked for a long time with *tizbarb* last night about the guilt (tied to relief) that people feel when they lose someone to an illness. I feel less guilt and more regret though, because as much as I'd given up hope that my dad and I would ever really reconcile our differences, now we're definitely never going to. It's so sad to admit to myself that I was holding on to a tiny glimmer of hope that some day, I would have a dad who hugged me and told me how happy he was for what I'd become.

I guess now I can just focus on pretending that I'm anything close to fit enough to run this half marathon the day after the funeral.

Don't worry. It's going to be okay.

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