You never know how or for how long a loss will impact you. Sometimes, you must pass through a symbolic valley of the shadow of death, and each one of us passes through that valley in his or her own way. Now that the tangible relationship with the deceased is gone only memories remain: some [...]

You never know how or for how long a loss will impact you. Sometimes, you must pass through a symbolic valley of the shadow of death, and each one of us passes through that valley in his or her own way.
Now that the tangible relationship with the deceased is gone only memories remain: some are good, some are not so good, and some are missing essential pieces. Perhaps this latter category represents the unfinished business of the relationship: the point it reached versus where we wish it had progressed to.
'If I only had one more day to spend with my loved one' is likely a universal lament. Here's how I imagine how that one more day with my father might have looked like: a breakfast of pancakes and bacon with blueberry syrup. Afterward, we would soar together in a glider, which is something we had talked about doing years ago but never did. We'd have lunch at a good Mexican restaurant and then shoot a game of pool or two afterward. Then, perhaps, we would just spend the rest of the day relaxing and talking, maybe watching a football game on television together. Those are all things that my father would have enjoyed, when he had the health and stamina to do so.
Regardless of whatever unfinished business there might have been between us, I feel fortunate that the last words I spoke to him, and he to me, were, 'I love you.'
Nobody chooses to go down this road, but no one avoids it either. Following a death, the surviving family and friends are left to sort it all out"not only the material things but also the holes that we wish had been, but will never be, filled. As far as my relationship with father goes, I only hope that in the end he was proud of me.