It gets better on some days. Some days, it’s worse. The fog is unpredictable, but it keeps you grounded.

I want to walk into a room and see him sitting in his favourite chair, and ask him what he’d do. But I take comfort in the fact that he brought me up to always listen to my heart, trust in my instincts and fight for what I believed was right. He wanted me to keep writing too, it was a trigger for our conversations, it was how we stayed connected.

Keep writing. I’m sure your father felt the same way as mine did about watching over me as I take my own decisions. That feeling never goes away, fog or not.