The loss, the grief, the memories, and the beautifully brilliant insight. All of that and you becomes the embodiment of your dad. I can see him though your eyes. Keep those messages going when you can. I know from my work as a crisis counselor when we share the pain inside of us with others. The words become these neon signs hanging in the air for others to see and feel. Most of all for us to learn from. The wound of grief lets light enter us.
I too missed Donna's death by a few minutes due to an idiot cab driver. That haunts me though I like you feel Donna (my wife) knew it was her time and choice. She wanted to protect me after three years of caregiving. She loved me into being and continues to.
Donna has no family. I was her last connection. And we had no children. So I read somewhere we die three times, once when our hearts stop beating, when we're buried or turned to ashes, and finally when our name is last said.
Keep sharing stories of your dad. Keep allowing the wound you're suffering to let light knowledge and love in.
And a Donna story from hospice. At one point during hospice I was pushed by the Rabbi and SW to talk to Donna about her life, regrets, hopes, and funeral. Took me a day to get the guts up to do that. I stood at the end of the bed and began to ask her about life, regrets, funeral etc.
She looked up at me and said with all the intensity a dying person can muster, "Don't be a maudlin p****." She turned over and went to sleep. She never surrendered her strength.
I wrote a Memoir to help me with my grief journey. Today I look at it and see it was a biography of a strong smart take no prisoners woman who loved me into being.
You got this we got you.