Making Memories

I wrote this piece several years ago to be published somewhere else, but today, today I need to share these same words. I'm lacking anything more - I'm missing my father as today it is six years to the day that he left us, and it hurts as if it were mere moments ago. 

Last year I shared why October hurts so much.

Six years ago I shared the immediate pain, the instant grief, the heartache. And then I talked about this very experience, the one I share below.

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Fall = Football, Y'all

image courtesy of pixabay

It finally feels like fall in North Carolina.

Hurricane Michael has come and gone, and somehow left a bit of crisp air in its wake.

I'm catching up on my DVR, and although I know it's Saturday, my body, mind, and my TV make me feel like it's Sunday.

Because all I'm seeing.

On all the channels?

Is game after game.

Is football.

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Another October

Let me tell you what it feels like.

To be so so ready for fall.

Let me tell you what it feels like.

To know that at the end of this month I'll turn another year older. 

What it feels like.

Knowing that before that.

Before then.

I'll face the anniversary of the worst day I've ever lived through.

Let me tell you what it feels like.

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Twenty-two Years

Today is a very difficult anniversary for my family. It's a day we experienced a double-dose of loss over the years. And so, finding the words isn't always easy.

I've tried before. Shared my January Reflections. Repeatedly.

But tonight, before I tuck myself and my kiddo into bed, I'll be borrowing some that I used last year, and yes, admittedly, a few from the year before and adding a bit to them as I continue to grow in my grief.

My grandmother left us 22 years ago today. Twenty-two years. How is that even possible?

It's a lifetime. And yet, I had barely lived so much of my own life. Barely seen the world. Barely knew what the future would hold.

But I knew love.

I knew love because my family showed it to me. Showed me heart. Showed me just how important connection was and would always be. Showed me how to take care of those I loved. How to show up. How to be there, even when they barely knew we were. And how to hold on. My father was the strongest example of this you'd ever see.

I remember the second I found out she was gone. Remember it like it was moments ago. Losing someone who loved you with their entire heart - unconditionally - is a loss like no other.

Since that day my family has experienced more loss. More pain. More sadness. And my only solace is that they're together again. My father, his parents, his sister. A family unit that traveled the world to create a new life for themselves. A life unlike what they would have experienced had they stayed. A life that led to my own. Such a blessing that they made that trek. Such history there that I hold onto - even when some of the pieces are missing.

I love and miss them so. Parts of my incredible family together again. And me, us, their loved ones ... here, carrying them in our hearts always. I hope they are listening, on this beautiful and peaceful snowy day, and that they hear me as I whisper softly to them ... I love you.

If you'd like to find out more about my grandmother, I'd love if you'd head over to this post I wrote oh-so-many-years-ago: What I Remember.

And if you have a family member you've lost and would like to take a moment to honor and recognize, I hope you'll do just that in the comments. Say their name. Let me know who they are to you. Let me share in your memories and moments, as you have here in mine.

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I Should Be Asleep But My Mind Won't Let Me

Image from Pexels

I'm not asleep.

I know. You already knew that.

Why introduce this post with such a simple, unnecessary statement?

I don't know. But here it is again.

I'm not asleep.

But my child is, and that's what matters most.

For the moment.

I'm sitting here like I'm 90 years old.

I literally just put some Icy Hot on my left knee.

I have no idea what the heck is wrong with it, but I probably slept funny.

And of course, I have an actual occasion this coming weekend and might even dance a step or two - and NOW I'm walking around smelling like my dad after he played ball all weekend.

Actually, he used Ben Gay more than Icy Hot - but it still makes me think of him.

Maybe that's why I'm still awake.

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I Woke Up Sad Today

I woke up sad today.

And it would be easy to say I didn't know why.

But I do.

I woke up sad because of many things.

I woke up sad because a short bit ago we had to say goodbye to our dog Dexter.

Our dog who we loved since he joined our family in 2003.

That's a really long time.

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It Comes Again

I am a girl without a father.

Father's Day is tomorrow and I am, currently, a girl without a father.

A woman, sure. But when I think of my dad I am and will always be a girl.

A young girl at that.

I had a father.

Don't get me wrong.

I had him for forty-one years of my life.

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My Relationship With Fall

This morning I'm extremely weepy.

I'm not sure what it is, exactly.

Possibly because fall is coming. It's not here yet, believe me (it's still in the 90s here in NC!), but it's coming.

And fall doesn't hold the love and luster for me as it once did. Cooler temps would be great. They would certainly make my walks easier, because, HEAT. Man. Seriously. HEAT. Whew. HAWT.

But back to fall and my mixed feelings.

Many moons ago, 9-11 took away the joy of September, and so every year I find my way through it. I lived much of it, the native New Yorker I am, walking through the streets of NYC on that day. I'll refrain in describing. This post will take on a tone of its own soon enough.

But a few years ago my father passed away unexpectedly in October (the 11th, no less), and the month lost it's glow. Much as my life did in many ways.

So, this morning I make my way through my second cup of coffee and sit down and write.

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Prince and Passover: Connecting The Two

This week I have been listening to Prince on replay.

You'd have to be under a rock and in hiding to not have heard of his passing.

It was the most heartbreaking news. I couldn't believe it. None of my friends could. Facebook blew up and the ache was instant.

Me. A minute (if that) after I heard that he might be gone.

The entertainment world has taken many hits in 2016. Many lives ended way too soon. Many ended as they neared their later years. Many people who represented so much of our youth. Prince among them. Taken way too soon.

Prince's passing leaves us raw and thinking of Michael and Whitney and how we felt when we heard they were gone. Prince's passing leaves us thinking of the way we used to sing his songs into our old tape recorders with our best friends and always get the words wrong. His passing makes us think of performers like Madonna and Cyndi Lauper and hope they're around for a long time to come.

Prince's passing stirs up emotions and grief. Grief for the loss of someone I never knew - someone I never even came to be in the same room with - and someone I and many others adored just the same.

But the timing isn't lost on me.

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Missing My Daddy

Tomorrow is my wedding anniversary.

Fourteen years.

Happily married. A little bit crazy. And a lot of love.

But today. Today I am missing my daddy.

A whole lot.

Like, my G-d, it hurts.

There isn't anything I can do about it - of course - but allow myself to grieve.

Permit myself to feel. To ache. To hurt. To cry.

To remember.

Thinking about my father is not something that only happens on anniversaries and occasions. It's not something that comes with holidays and pictures. It's there. All the time. It's a constant.

I don't ever forget how big the hole is in my life since he's left.

I try to laugh. I try to smile. I certainly love.

But I miss my daddy.

I miss his hands. I miss holding them. I miss how they felt. How they smelled, even. Oh, how I miss him. His arms. The warmth of his hugs. Enveloping me. Shielding me. Protecting me from all the things.

My father wasn't a giant man, not in the scheme of things, I'd guess. But to me? To me he was beyond compare. My father, man of little words, loved with his whole heart.

I'm truly blessed to have the memories of times spent with my dad. Memories made with my core family of my parents and my brother. Growing up in my house was - well - it was all the things you wish a child to have. And then, to spend such time with my parents and my husband. My daughter. I have what many people wish for. Moments and memories to hold close forever. I know people look for that. They dream of it. Am I selfish for wanting more? For wanting more years together? For wanting so many things?

You know what? I don't care. I'll be selfish. It's fine. I miss him. I want more time.

Don't we always?

Love the ones you're able to hold close, friends. Remind them of this love. Move past the moments that make you angry. The ones that make you spit nails and breathe fire. We all have them. Don't laugh. You know you're feisty enough to practically spit nails sometimes, right?  These moments? This anger? They're nothing compared to the grief that hits in waves and makes your heart ache. after the person you love is gone. Let them go.

I miss you, Daddy. I hope that tomorrow finds you dancing with our loved ones in honor of my anniversary. Know I'll be holding you in my heart. Today. Tomorrow. Every day. Always.

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Writing Outside My Safe Space

I've written a few pieces in recent days that I'd love you to have a look at.

This past weekend I was over at Her View From Home. 

I wrote about The Importance of Matzo Ball Soup. 

If you know my history you know I lost my dad a few years ago. And it's been quite the struggle to find my way through my grief. There are so many thoughts, so much to process. It's a rough road, but I do the best I can. And then the holidays come and there are so many reminders. So many memories - moments lost - never to be recaptured. Only my memories and my heart can hold him close. And so I've shared a bit of that with you and the Her View From Home readers. I hope you'll stop by. I'd truly appreciate the support.

And lastly, my other recent piece was over on the Postpartum Support International blog. I wrote about motherhood - and why there are good and not-so-good moments, but why motherhood is who I am. Motherhood is Me.  I have been posting there pretty regularly and you can find a list of my submissions, along with any other posts I've done outside of this blog on my Where To Find Me page. I hope you'll do some digging and have a look at what I've been up to. And stop over to PSI - consider sharing some of the posts with moms in your life. Moms in need of support and a reminder that they're not ever alone.

As always, my friends, thank you for the support. I obviously love my home here - but it's also pretty cool to be submitting elsewhere and to find people who enjoy my words. I'll keep doing that, and I hope you'll keep on reading.

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A Thanksgiving Ramble

It's a Thankful Thursdays post on a Wednesday night. But still. It's gonna be live all day tomorrow because I won't be posting right away, so - let's just go with it - shall we?

Now ... before I get thankful ... let me ramble a bit.

I fell off the NaBloPoMo wagon.

To be honest, I'm not sure how on it I ever actually was. But I tried.

I was slightly motivated, and regrouping w. my blogging friends DID help me remember to write more. But I fell off and haven't really written in a few days.

I started a few posts and did nothing w. them.

Sigh.

I donno what happened, exactly. I just dropped off.

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This is 43.

Today is my birthday.

Today I turn 43.

Forty-three.

What did you imagine for yourself at 43-years-old?

What DO you imagine for yourself?

I don't think I ever thought this far ahead.

I never thought about life in my 40s.

I never thought I'd feel young or old.

I never stopped and gave thought to what my life would be like.

I was young. Restless. Foolish. Smart. Heartbroken. In love. Angry. Emotional.

I was all of these things.

Each one of them.

Regardless of the age I was. Regardless of where I was in my life.

I was each one of these things.

I still am. Now and then.

I was 8. My daughter's age. Do I even remember it? What did I think about then besides hanging out with my best friend and singing music at the top of our lungs. Did I do that then? Why isn't my child doing that now? Should she be? Has she made some of the friends she'll hold onto until she reaches her 40s? Forever friends? Looking back, it's hard to tell.

I was 13. Connecting with friends. Making new ones. At a new stage in life. Boys. Boys as friends. Silly crushes. Hidden dreams. Spiral notebooks as journals. I sat and I wrote.

I was 16. Crushes grew stronger. Feelings got hurt. Friends moved forward. New groups. New school. My Sweet 16 was the happiest day of my life. How little did I know then?

I was 18. Off to college. With my best friend. Was I truly branching out? Family drove to see me. Brought friends. Friends who came to visit. Surprise parties. College years. Emotions grew and I was weary. Why? Only 18. 19. 20? My 21st birthday came and went. I had already had my first drink. My second. My third. Friends. Surprises. Connections. People I'd hold onto for years to come.

I was 24. I spent the weeks before my birthday overseas with my boyfriend. Our time together eclipsed by the atmosphere. The surroundings. Was it love? Or was it London? Spain? Both? All of it? How little I knew. And yet ... how much I felt.

I was 29. About to be married. To a new love. A new friend. The man who held my heart. Closer to a new decade of life. Thirty. Tremendous. Huge. He surprised me with a dinner party. My family and closest friends were there. Thirty. We barely looked at the number.

I was 34. And I was a new mother. My daughter born in February - my birthday coming months later. Motherhood took hold and changed my world. The number didn't matter. Her world was just beginning. As was mine. Ours.

I was 41. Turning 41 without my father. How was that even possible? He - only 66 - gone. Spending time with my mother as we looked back on her memories of the day I was born. Forty-one. Years. Decades. How does one even consider what the next years will bring when one day can change everything in mere moments?

Forty-three.

I'm here.

Today.

This is 43.

I'm strong. I'm healthy. I'm working on myself.

I'm finally putting myself out there in ways I never would have before.

I'm writing more. And sharing those words.

I'm in print. Not my own whole giant book, but I'm there.

I have an author page on Amazon.

Forty-three.

There is so much more to come.

I plan to enjoy it all. All of it.

Even if - as I do - the tears fall as I remember years past. And I think of what's to come.

This.

This is 43.

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Two Whole Years. I Still Grieve.

Yesterday was the anniversary of the most horrible day I've experienced in my not quite 43 years of life. It was the anniversary of the day we lost my dad. And it sucked.

Grief is not something that has a timeline.

Grief is not something you can turn off when you feel like it.

Grief is not something that feels the same to all people.

Two whole years.

Two whole years without the man who was the first man I ever loved.

Two whole years without the man who held my hand when I needed him to.

Grief is not something that is completely relatable - because all loss is not the same.

Grief is not something that can simply fade away because you wish for it to.

Nor is it something that can be put on pause when you need a break.

Grief sucks.

Plain and simple.

It hurts.

It rips you raw.

It pains you to your very soul.

Loss is not something that one heals from immediately.

There is no timeline - so remind yourself that it's okay to feel no matter how many years have gone by.

Two whole years without my father isn't something I can blink at and move past in minutes.

I miss him.

I want him back.

I want to know why. Why did this happen? Why was it his time to go?

What can I do to bring him back?

Have you ever lost someone and had that thought? That sentiment of wishing and hoping and making a deal with pretty much any higher power who will listen to you?

Whether it's for your parent, your child, a spouse, a grandparent - whoever you grieve for - I'm here to tell you you're not alone. Although our losses are not the same, our pain is not precise, and our hearts will heal differently - you're still not alone.

I'm here.

I'm here.

Smiling and making funny faces in selfies with my daughter.

Blinking back tears behind sunglasses as I walk around my neighborhood.

Taking a deep breath when I hear that certain song.

As I sit here typing I'm cracking open pistachios with my teeth. They remind me of my father.

There are so many things.

No one loss is like any other.

No one loss is greater than any other.

Loss is loss is loss. But they're not all the same.

It's been two whole years.

I still grieve.

My father's been gone for two years. I still want to pick up the phone and call him when I make sweet potatoes or chicken soup. I still want to talk to him about the Mets and the Giants. I still want to do all the things I can't do anymore.

It's been two whole years.

I still grieve.

I'm pretty sure I'll never stop.

And that's okay.

Honest. It is. It's okay. Because to stop would be to forget. And I never want to forget.

Grief is not something that has a timeline.

If you have suffered a loss of a loved one, remind yourself of this always.

It won't make things better. It won't ease the pain. But it will help somehow.

It will make it okay - even when others might make it seem like it is not.

Even when the words of love and support dwindle because another year has gone by.

Even when others don't seem to want to hear it.

You can keep talking.

Keep feeling.

Keep holding on.

It's been two whole years and I still grieve.

Miss you, Daddy.

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The Virtual Lump in my Throat.

For the last few days I've been stuck.

I sit down. Open up my laptop.

Open up a window and a blank blog post - just like this one looks to me right now.

And then I sit. And sit. And switch tabs.

And I've got nothing.

I search for music to buy. To listen to.

I hit Facebook. Twitter.

I've got carpal tunnel from sitting here putzing around.

Doing nothing.

Yesterday I lost myself in pictures of my dad.

My dad and me. My dad and my daughter. My dad and my niece.

My dad.

It's easy to lose myself in that sort of stuff.

October is just around the corner.

Two years. It's coming.

I shut down.

Ignore it.

Pretend it's not happening.

Look at pictures.

Imagine his voice.

Maybe that's been it.

Maybe I haven't felt ready to write anything new because I've needed to write about him.

Although I feel I just did.

But I hadn't before that. Not for a while.

Father's Day seems normal. The right time to write.

Now, less so.

But the summer months are big for my family.

I've said that before - I know.

My husband and mom have July birthdays.

My brother and dad, August.

September is my parents' anniversary.

October my birthday.

And the anniversary of when we lost my dad.

I've never not wanted October to come so badly.

Although, that's a lie. Last year I felt the same.

October. Fall. Cooler temps. Pumpkins. Pretty colors.

I loved fall.

I want to still. But I don't. Even if I try to.

Eh.

Here I go again. Rambling.

Writing is good for the soul, I suppose.

I know.

I know it is.

And so I write.

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It's coming again. Father's Day.

Father's Day is coming.

Again.

You're still not here.

I lack the words.

I lack the poetry.

The thoughts.

The movement.

This year I just stumble along.

Pretending that it won't matter.

That Father's Day isn't coming.

Because you're not here.

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Observing Passover our own way.

It's 1:51 pm on Saturday.

What are you doing this weekend?

Passover started last night and my daughter and I Skyped with my brother/SIL/niece/mom/SIL's mom and did a few prayers.

We didn't do an entire Seder because without my dad it just doesn't seem exactly like the kind of thing we want to do.

And while that might not make sense to some, it's what makes sense and works for us, and how we want to go about things in my father's memory and in his name and in our religion.

And how long will it take before we say such blessings without tears?

Probably forever - but we did it and I'm proud of us and I know my dad is, too.

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When nothing means everything.

We just got home from a ton of errands.

A quick lunch.

A pop-in at a friend's.

Selling some of my books. Buying more used ones (not for me - well - not more than one for me).

Grocery shopping.

For some reason I bought a can of Planters peanuts today.

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Depression is real. You're not alone.

Today is what I believe to be the second annual #DayOfLight.

This event was established to bring depression out of the darkness and into the light.

I wrote last year - with loads of resources and information and the perspective of someone who is an advocate for mental health.

I write this year with similar information, but the reminder that I know of what I speak.

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Wrapping up 2014.

December 31, 2014. Today. We wrap up the year.

Last year I didn't want to write a wrap-up post. I wasn't feeling it.

Today I feel like crap and so I'm also not exactly feeling it.

I had a pretty quiet year, blogging-wise.

I never expected to look back and think, wow, I didn't write that often - and yet - I found myself skimming post titles and finding my favorites.

Or my least favorites, because of topic and emotion, not because of content or writing style.

So - here's 2014 for you - wrapped up in a bow of sorts.

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