Back in Australia, I can report that if my flying to Israel in order to participate in its normal grieving rituals was meant to help me get over my father's passing away, it failed. It doesn't take much to get the discomfort going, just a few thoughts or a glimpse at some of the memorabilia I brought back with me. Things like some of the driver's licences my father had collected over the years: he was always proud of being able to drive almost anything.
Under all of this discomfort there is still that prevailing thought that my father should have had some few more good years in him. Perhaps, if it wasn't for that silly fall, or if it wasn't for that lacklustre medical treatment he had received (no, we're not suing, but yes, I am definitely accusing) he would have still been around enjoying decent quality life. Then, perhaps, we would have been able to do things together, like the things we didn't really make an effort to do back when everything was alright.
Yes, these thoughts can drive me crazy. Maybe the whole notion is crazy to begin with? Maybe it's just me not being close enough, physically, to witness the gradual decline in my father's health that's to blame? Maybe I'm going through the standard grieving motions, but it's just that I'm inexperienced in the process?
I don't know. What I do know with significant certainty is that going back to work and the life's normal routines is going to be hard.