this is one of those times that I have to believe that...SOMETHING happens. I haven't the faintest what that would be, but something that holds up *some* kind of continuum above and beyond what we know and see, and that your dad and my Sophie are a part of that somehow.
Like, she said goodbye. I knew she was saying goodbye as she said it, and it was hours before she died. I had been thinking how sad I was that she didn't want to crawl under the covers with me since she got back from the hospital, or really cuddle at night, I think because she was hot and so very uncomfortable. And the last night she was alive, I woke up at five or six a.m. to her fumbling - very, very weakly, she had almost no energy left at the end - to cuddle, and eventually figured out she wanted under the covers. And I told her I loved her about a hundred million times right then, and I hung onto her for as long as she could stand to be under the covers with me. I thought she was going to go right that minute, but she waited until I woke up later on.
She was saying goodbye, and as she so often did in life, she did it in a way she knew I would get.
So, I have to have SOME kind of faith - faith that the animals and maybe the dead people know better than us, that Sophie somehow still knows how much I love her, regardless of what explanation or lack thereof I might have for why that might be.
What I'm trying to say is that I think your Dad *does* know and *is* happy. Somehow, in some way. That just because you are you in this universe, and because Sophie and your father are also themselves in this universe - in whatever state, in whatever way - that they are both a part of that continuum. I know that probably sounds kind of dippy, but I know that when I think of Sophie I feel like she DOES know - in some kind of grander sense of the verb than we understand - even if that's just my imagination, or even if it's just the fact that it's recorded in the present regardless of anyone's particular state of animation.
All that said, there's nothing really that can stem the loss of what was and is not now. And I am sad for you too that your dad never got to meet Paul, or see your apartment, or meet Luna, or any of the other wonderful things of the past couple years. And I'm sad that my baby's gone.
Perhaps it's all just clinging to ghosts, but something inside me says that this just can't be ALL there is to everything, because if this is it, well, just kill me now.
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