Grief

So my dad died a year ago. He didn't drink. He didn't smoke. He worked hard. He showed up wherever and whenever my brother needed him, No questions asked. Though we didn't had loads of money, he pushed us to be educated . He never forced his decisions onto me especially whether it was related to Job, career, marriage. We lived a good life. We felt protected, no responsibilities . Only person we were responsible for was ourselves . That too wasn't exactly responsibility because he would show up , support and made us feel that we own the world not the other way. And then he got sick. I moved from one hospital to another and another only to lose him. It feels so tragic to think about my dad who was GodLike to me, my superhero to be confined to bed who can't even do basic human things by himself like pooping or peeing, infact he couldn't even shift himself  to other side on bed. From the day one, I kept hearing over and over ago that his chances of survival are low. He won't make it blah blah blah. But I believed my dad. I believed in his will to live. I knew him, his heart and his soul. And I knew I was his whole world. My family was his whole world and he would be all okay regardless of what this medicos are saying. They didn't know him as well as I did. So I prayed to all gods I could think of , all churches , temples wherever God's supposed to exist. I requested my friends to pray. I  made promises to God. I kept my fingers double crossed for days and nights. Whatever I could think of , I tried. But it just didn't work.And my dad died. I came back home to my grandparents , ailing mother and younger brother with a school to run . For first time in my life,I felt very naked. Exposed. Vulnerable. Without my dad, it felt as if everyone started trying to run my life, my family and my father's legacy. Nobody cared about grief.