I know. 13 years ago when my dad died, my whole family was there when they took him off the ventilator. I thought he’d begone in a few minutes, but he actually hung on until the next morning.
I drove home that night to get a few hours sleep and feed my cats. I drove back to the hospital the next morning, but I missed his passing by ten minutes.
Seeing my dad’s cold body gave me shivers too. I’ve been to more funerals than I can count, but when it’s your own father, man it’s rough.
My dad was buried, so first there was the wake, then the actual funeral. My brother and I were two of the six pall bearers (polar bears?) so we were the last ones to see him lowered in the ground.
Then afterwards comes the repast where every good Irish family gets blotto drunk.
On the Jewish side of the family it’s called the shiva, but equally blotto.
I know your loss will be with you for a while. Like Hawkeye once said, you don’t forget it, but you can learn to live with it. I made my peace with his death, I pray you make yours. Not right now, but someday.