My dad died on January 29th at 5:42 am. From the moment he was diagnosed to the day he died, he lived for 14 sunrises. Two weeks.

He was told he’d had have months. He got his first call from an oncologist the night before he died. I’ve never experienced such rapid shifts of reality as if every single day was what normally be a weeks or months progression in just 24 hours.

I got 14 sunrises with you in this cocoon of healing we tried our best to create. I documented the sky outside my window each morning. I didn’t know how long I would be doing that or what the point was. It mostly just gave me a quick moment to myself to breathe and ground myself before turning my attention to being my fathers caregiver for the whole day.

So as unceremoniously and unromantically as I possibly can share this - here’s a picture of each morning I lived in the reality of “my dad is dying” before I started the new more permanent reality of “my dad is dead.”