The last time I saw my dad was in an urn and the time before that was unmemorable, only because I didn’t know I needed to remember it.
Up until about six weeks ago, I hadn’t given much thought to the concept of “legacy” because I’m 20. People my age are supposed to be getting drunk and making art and not thinking about who gets Dad’s stuff now that he’s gone. I wasn’t prepared for any of this. I don’t think anyone could be.
So far it’s not the big things that get me. Some days I say it to myself in the mirror.