When my Dad died, it was like someone had reached inside my body and pulled out about two-thirds of my nervous system. While having experienced quite a bit of grief over the previous decade, this loss kind of broke me. To patch myself together again, I made some art, like I do. It was really, really hard, but felt right when I was done (that was hard, too, to wait and get it how I wanted it, and then actually show it to people). Dad was my comics buddy, I grew up reading his vast collection, and we shared a deep love of comics as adults, which is why a comic was extremely appropriate. There will be more, I hope.
He’d wanted a Viking funeral, but also to have his useful parts used (well, he wanted to be eaten, but I think that’s illegal, even if anyone was willing to do it). So we didn’t have a body, and we didn’t actually have access to a Viking ship (or any ship), but we did our best with some of his ashes, a model ship, and my brother’s Burning-Man-honed fire skills. Siegfried’s Funeral March played as the ship burned, and we wept and wailed with all our hearts.
I miss him so damn much.