1 month later.

It's been a month since my dad passed away. And I still seem to be sane. Most of the time at least. It's 11:30pm and I am writing this in bed, counting down the minutes until the exact month. I probably shouldn't. But my brain seems to want me to.

A month. A month without a dad. To be honest, it's pretty shitty. One day I'm ok - at peace with what's happened. The next day (or hour, even) I'm so furious at the world - angry that we are born ultimately to suffer. Things are more the former than the latter, but those times are very, very dark.

In Grey's Anatomy (excuse the reference) George tells Christina that he can't imagine living in a world where his dad doesn't exist. Christina tells him that it never really goes away, then welcomes him to the "Dead Dads Club" - a place that you're never in, until you are in, and that she is sorry that he had to join.

My Darling Dad, I miss you.

Four weeks ago, I tried not to listen as a teenage girl rushed into the ICU and was told that her father had passed away.

I sat cross-legged on the floor of the waiting room, as her cries grew louder and louder. Just the night before I looked over at her as she chatted to her father, and felt a wave of jealousy as my dad lay in a coma.

If you've kept up to date with me on twitter, you'll know bits and pieces of what's gone on in my life over the last month. My dad, aged 70, had a stroke.