See you again...

There were only a few times in my life that I saw my dad cry. And I recall each of them vividly, especially the time I saw him crying one day. I was young - in my preteens to be exact. So I was inquisitive. He sighed, leg crossed over the other, wiped his eyes and almost woefully told me that it was the anniversary of his father's passing.

I never did get to meet my grandpa. He passed before I was born. It was hard for me to understand, especially at my age, the amount of pain my dad was feeling on that day. I never imagined (even though it's usually the evolution of things) that I would one day understand that pain. At that time, it had been more than a decade since my grandpa's passing. But, I know now, that time has no meaning when it comes to the pain you feel when you lose someone who was such an immense part of your life.

Today, January 5, was my grandpa's birthday. A day that my dad always looked a little wistful and had a certain sadness in his eyes. Unfortunately, I now know that feeling and – Dad – I hope you are up there somewhere enjoying your father’s company once more. And I know that –while I hope I have a long and happy life here on Earth – I still look forward to the day that I can see you again and meet your dad for the first time.

Thoughts of you

I see a man walk by, her little hand in his and I realize I'll never again have the comfort of my hand in yours letting me know the world will be alright. 

Sometimes my life seems lost without you.

I knew the day would come – the day that I would lose you – but I didn't think it would come so soon.

Too often the pain is so unbearable, digging deeper, until it feels like a cavernous hole in my heart.

Some days I can't explain it but I miss you even more. I can imagine exactly how you'd be sitting on the couch, exactly what you'd say to me in a certain situation or just see the expression on your face.

It doesn't matter how fast or how slow the days go. Because none of those days bring you back.

I always imagined all these great moments in my life that some way, some how, include you.

Sometimes it feels like I just haven't seen you in awhile. Maybe living away from home for too long makes it seem like that could be possible. But then I remember that you're never coming back and I hold back my tears because the world expects life to just go on. So many emotions I can't express. Thoughts I have to fight back. Because if I only think of you, I feel immobile. My body and my brain. All consumed with the pain I feel inside. The pain I hide each day. In every moment. In every thought.

Perhaps it would be better to imagine your only just not here. Right beside me. But the yearning I have to hear your voice, the need to have you wrap me in those heroic and influential arms. The want to look you in the eyes and thank you for being more wonderful than you ever knew you were.

The world seems so dark without you. So empty. So meaningless. And each day I'm losing hope that I'll ever truly be happy again.

I wish I could just tell you about my day. It's so often I tell stories about you. How you inspired me. Helped me through a hard time. Or just helped me see what I could be. Live up to my potential.

I could never fathom losing you. I had no idea the amount of immense pain I would feel. The happy memories that would become something I couldn't shake.

It's been too long

I have so many thoughts scribbled down. Just things that come to mind. Pieces of a future blog. Happy memories. Sad thoughts. But, yesterday, the day that, just one year earlier, I lost my dad, nothing felt right. In fact, I had a hard time coming to grips with the fact that it had been an entire year since the last time I'd heard his voice. The last time he told me he loved me before he suddenly left this world.

Nothing can fill the hole in my heart and I miss him more and more each day. I haven't even begun to accept that I'll never again have a conversation with him. I can't call him to tell him about my day. His wisdom about life. His advice. His love. All things that I'm not sure how I'll live without.

So while many of my friends and family were there when we unwillingly said our last goodbyes to my dad, I realized I never posted my words from that day and I thought it might help me, as it always does, to just get it out there again.

Sometimes life is not fair. I've learned that this is the case more often than not. Sometimes things don't happen the way we've planned. Sometimes things just happen.

My dad always told me, mind over matter. If I didn't mind, it didn't matter. Well, dad, I don't think that works this time. You went too quickly. Too young. We truly weren't ready for this incredibly heartbreaking loss. This devastation that will forever change our lives. My life.

My father was a tremendous man and anyone who knew him would say no different.

To me, my dad was so many things.

When I was a child he was my hero. He could unlock the car without touching it. He could change the stoplight from red to green with a snap of his fingers. He was best buddies with Santa. And he was my biggest cheerleader.

And even after I learned about key-less entry car remotes, the technology in streetlights at intersections and the truth about Santa, he was still my protector. Always looking out for me and making sure no boys were going to break my heart. And after I learned that no man was going to be good enough for me in my dad's eyes, at least then, he was still my mentor. Showing me what it meant to work hard to get what you want out of life and helping me to make my own decisions to become the person I wanted to be.

And just when I thought I'd seen all of the roles this remarkable man would play in my life, he became something to me that I didn't know he could be, he became my friend.

It seems that each time I think about him, I remember something new that I'm going to miss about him.

Rocking out to The Temptations and the Four Tops in his car.

Him quoting Abbott and Costello bits as though it was some sort of astute piece of advice.

Him telling me I've outdone myself on my Sunday sauce.

His fashion advice before work in the morning.

Listening to him give my husband a hard time about being a Cowboys fan.

Listening to his great stories.

And his quick quips.

But, most of all, I'm going to miss his unconditional love. His never ending support. And his big hugs.

It is so hard to believe he's really gone. In fact, when I think about the loss of this great man, my father, I have this immense fear. How am I supposed to live my life without this man who I've depended on for the last nearly 30 years? There are so many things I still needed from him. Things I wanted to show him. Life experiences and moments that I wanted him to be there for. But I know deep down, that one day, maybe even soon, I'll be able to think of him and instead of tears, I'll be able to smile. To remember the incredible man that was my father. And I know that I'll be ok.

Because this man, my father. This incredibly strong, smart and loving man, taught me, by example, how to stand on my own. How to be my own person. How to work hard. How to love. How to survive. And I know that, even thought he can't really be here to teach me the rest of life's lessons, to guide me or to just give me one of his big bear hugs or a big smooch on my cheek, I know he will always be beside me.

My dad taught me so much about life. And now, I must continue to live my life remembering each of those things and hoping one day to be at least half the person that he was.

Dad, there are so many things I wish I could say to you right now. But, for now, I just need to tell you that we'll be ok. We'll smile again. We'll laugh. We'll remember. We'll survive. But not without thinking of you every second. Not without doing it in your honor. I love you.

Proud

Sometimes I wish you could tell me how proud you are of me. Does that seem selfish? Or is it just that I respected what you thought of me so much that it meant the world for you to say those simple words. I'm proud of you. 

It's hard to lose one of the few people in life who you feel truly understands you. Does that seem narcissistic? Why can't it be that maybe you felt that way about me too. I love you. 

I often wonder if there will ever be a truly happy moment in life. Am I being too cynical? Or does it just feel like life will be forever bittersweet. I miss you. 

Vivid Dreams

Vivid dreams turn into nightmares when I wake
Into a world where everything I’ve ever known is gone
Lost, gasping for that familiar air
I try to close my eyes again because a moment ago you were there
So real, I swear I heard your voice again
Calling me to come to you, letting me know you’re alright
I see your smile, it spreads to your eyes in a way only yours could do
But how could it be? I guess what I’m seeing isn’t really you
I slowly sit up, realizing my hopes have taken over my sleep
While tears stream quickly down my face, the hurt and pain runs deep
I can’t go on, or so it seems
It’s like living inside of a shell
Just a blank stare and a forced smile to hide what I’m really feeling
I’m in this box, I can’t get out, closed in by the walls and ceiling
Suffocating gently, though it’s better than the alternative - facing my new reality
So I’ll just stay here a while longer, praying that, tonight, you’ll come back to visit me

Make a Wish

Today should have been a day of celebration. It should have been a day of sugar-free cake and wrapped presents that would eventually reveal Yankees apparel and memorabilia, barbecue tools and New York Giants tee shirts.

But, instead, today is sad.

Today, my Dad would have been 57. Still young. Still vibrant. Still yearning to experience everything that life has to offer.

Today, I'd give anything to be able to wish him a happy birthday. To be scouring the stores for the Yankees shirt he didn't already own. To have him mad at all of us for even making a big deal about the fact that he was a year older.

Yes, 57 years ago, today, an incredible man was born. A man that I miss every day. But especially today.

I keep hearing it gets easier. I know this has to be true but, for now, I can't think about celebrating his life when I'm still grieving the loss of it.

I do feel fortunate to have spent my Dad's last birthday with him but, now, I feel like I should have done more. Not that I could have known, but if I had, I would have done more, given more. More love. More time. More life. Things we probably don't wish for when blowing out those candles but the things that suddenly become so important when we lose someone we love. Things that are important to me now.

"No one ever told me..."

I'm struggling today. I have been. And, for some reason, in this time of struggle, I haven't been able to write. I have been reading a lot, though. So instead of using my own thoughts, I'm going to borrow the thoughts of someone else.

"No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing.

At other times it feels like being mildly drunk, or concussed. There is a sort of invisible blanket between the world and me. I find it hard to take in what anyone says. Or perhaps, hard to want to take it in. It is so uninteresting.

Yet I want the others to be about me. I dread the moments when the house is empty. If only they would talk to one another and not to me . . .

An odd by-product of my loss is that I’m afraid of being an embarrassment to everyone I meet. At work, at the club, in the street, I see people, as they approach me, trying to make up their minds whether they’ll ‘say something about it’ or not. I hate it if they do, and if they don’t . . .

And grief still feels like fear. Perhaps more strictly, like suspense. Or like waiting; just hanging about waiting for something to happen. It gives life a permanently provisional feeling. It doesn’t seem worth starting anything. I can’t settle down. I yawn, I fidget, I smoke too much. Up till this I always had too little time. Now there is nothing but time. Almost pure time, empty successiveness . . ."

C. S. Lewis, from A Grief Observed