![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh284gI8f5NIKIJApcXYyb35abtglaRPWrKgmTGRQWhtBpOpyGEBVoGgS064AOwJEbHIP0aRESnf5741XFg9Y0U0mISNE9dGeS7RAdba5hJI387TOWa5TSz0Vjy5lHTaHzSLHcCcWHJdcg/s400/Dad0003.jpg)
Two months after his death, the thing that really strikes me is that I feel I've, all of a sudden, grown up. I'm not in the first flush of youth (or even the second), but I now realise that I've spent the past 30ish years of my adult life, thinking that I'm still a young man and my Dad will always be there to help and support me. Now that he's not around, the added responsibility I have of being there for my Mum has put an extra wrinkle in my brow and a few extra gray hairs at my temples. I'm sure this is the normal reaction to a loved one's death, I'm sure, over time, life will settle into it's post-Stan normality, but just at the moment I feel every one of my 52 years.
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