Hi all, <<PREFACE: LONG POST>> I've been wanting to write this post for a while now, but truthfully, it's been difficult finding the emotional resolve (and time) to put virtual pen to paper. First and foremost, I want to thank everyone who left me words of condolence after my father's passing - while I couldn't bring myself to respond to any of them, they actually brought me a significant amount of comfort and solace during some really tough times. For those of you who don't know, in a 5 day period in June, my mother had a major surgery, my dog and my father passed away (the latter two unexpectedly). It felt like my ground was pulled out from under me - the aftermath of dealing with the funeral, his estate and other circumstances (which I will attempt to briefly explain) has been crushing. Loss is a part of life. I am 33 years old and recognize that my parents were slowing down with age. When my father passed suddenly, it felt like a crushing blow, but I also knew it was going to happen at some point. What kills me though is what I found out after the fact - this is difficult to write, as I had an enormous amount of love and respect for my father. To make a long story short, he was suffering from congestive heart failure for 14 years, and never told us. Since 2004, he had two heart attacks, a major heart surgery and was on a litany of medications. I know it sounds far fetched, but my family knew NOTHING of this. My parents lived separately (while still married) because he was a professor in another part of the province. We saw him twice a month and spent summers together, but he somehow managed to keep this part of his life completely hidden. He would often boast about never going to doctors and never missing a day of work. When he lost a significant amount of weight over a short period (in 2011), he told us he had a blood infection and barred us from visiting him in Windsor. He would routinely come up with excuses for having to rush back to home when visiting, and often blamed the demands of teaching/research for not staying longer. Apparently in the days before he died, he knew he was at his end. He had gone to the hospital, and they had sent him home in respite care. With that being said, he STILL didn't tell us he was sick - if I had known or suspected anything, I would have dropped everything to be at his side. Instead, my last memory of him is a 3 minute phone call where he told me to visit my aunt who was sick. I feel/felt cheated of spending more time with him. There is a tremendous amount of guilt, as I tell myself I should have seen the signs, or just showed up at his door. When we cleared out his house, there were literally garbage bags full of medication he had just never bothered to take. He could have saved his own life (or at least extended it significantly), but instead, he decided to take a slow burn death and ignore doctor's advice. Would you believe me that this isn't even the worst of how he lead his life? This is already an excessively long post, but the follow up will include his secret mistress of 27 years, drilling down a door with my lawyer to throw an elderly woman on the street, finding $50,000 wrapped in tin foil hidden in his house, as well as precious metals and long guns (keep in mind that this is an elderly professor who didn't even so much as drink in our presence). My life continues to be hectic and comically tragic. I am the estate's executor (as my mom is wrecked from finding out how my dad lived his life). I am now also an involuntary landlord to four rental properties, and trying to figure out taxes on a man that hid his money in more than 15 accounts scattered in different countries. I apologize again for the length of this post, and thank each and everyone for providing me support and kind words (both in this instance and over the years). I actually haven't told many people in my actual life, as there is an element of shame in admitting this stuff is happening to my family. Hope everyone is well. I miss Sherdog - it is a legitimately comforting outlet for dealing with the stress of everyday life.