All of these memories are wonderful and painful at the same time. In Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, Victor’s mother has just died, and he muses: “the first of those sorrows which are sent to wean us from the earth, had visited, and its dimming influence quenched our dearest smiles.” I profoundly feel Victor’s sentiments right now with the loss of my dad. My attachment to the world is lessened because he is not here. In fact, it’s hard to view the world the same way now that he’s gone.