My father lost the love of his life twelve years ago.
When my mother died, a part of him seemed to disappear with her. He continued going to work, taking care of the house, and showing up for family gatherings, but anyone who knew him well could see that he was never quite the same.
My parents had been married for more than thirty years. They had built a life together, raised a family, and shared the kind of love that made ordinary moments feel special. They had their disagreements, of course, but they always found their way back to each other.
My mother was the person my father told everything to. She was the first person he wanted to speak to when something wonderful happened and the person he turned to when life became difficult.
After she died, the silence in our family home became almost unbearable.
For years, my father refused to consider dating anyone else. Whenever relatives suggested that he might eventually find companionship again, he would smile sadly and change the subject.
