My father passed away this morning.
As I grieve quietly on an Air Canada nonstop to Montreal, there's a part of me that can't help but dread the next seven days. My parents' house will be inundated with visitors, many of whom will bend over backward trying to make me and my family feel better.
I don't begrudge them. I'd do the same thing. In fact, eight months ago when my father's identical twin brother passed away, I found myself caught up in that familiar whirlwind of chatty sympathy that often visits the solemn days of shiva.